


The Devil's Command

by batmanbane



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmanbane/pseuds/batmanbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are trapped by your father's reputation," he whispered, bringing her hand up to lay against his beating heart. "I can liberate you from him. We both know we were meant to be, Winslow. Nature intended it, for you are the rare bloom and I am the master gardener."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was an unusually balmy Saturday evening in the city of Gotham, where the highlight of the fall social season was taking place at one of the city's most cherished architectural gems, the Gotham City Library.

Miranda Tate's annual masked charity ball courted a dazzling who's-who of big givers and shmoozers – all anxious to earn the favour of the beautiful and unattached Ms. Tate.

Unknown to the assembled glitterati was the fact that 'Miranda Tate' was the alter ego of Talia, daughter of Ra's al Ghul, the arch villain who had died years before in an attempt to destroy the city with a fear toxin.

Since her father's death, Talia had plotted to avenge him and complete his work in Gotham.

Her plan necessitated cementing Miranda Tate's reputation as an admired philanthropist and trusted CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Proof of Talia's success was reflected in the popularity of Miranda's charity ball. Tickets for the dinner-dance sold-out every year, even at the escalating price of $15,000 a plate. The perfect hostess, she eagerly looked forward to the day she would betray all of Gotham, and grinned like a cheshire cat at the masked admirers who vied for her attention.

Tonight, there was one particular masked admirer who was not in attendance. Talia's life long ally, the feared mercenary known only as Bane, had laboured for months in the city's sewers to lay the groundwork for their planned assault on the city.

Bane's mask wasn't the lacy black accessory worn by Miranda and her guests, and it would never do at a charity ball. Instead, his mask was medicinal — vital to his health in delivering a vapour that provided relief from chronic pain sustained in an old, devastating injury. The complicated assemblage wrapped around his face to reveal a shaved head, an expressive brow and a hypnotic pair of dark chocolate eyes. Because the mask resembled the jaws of a spider, it offered a terrifying visage to anyone who dared confront him. Known internationally as 'the masked man', Bane was a prime suspect in the recent crash of a CIA plane.

This evening found him irritable and weary of incompetent underlings, but it was hunger that had driven him to the surface. He was a man of many appetites, but now only a willing woman would satisfy. Recent events, however, had made it necessary for him to take extra care.

What should have been a straightforward operation for Bane's men had gone awry, leading Police Commissioner James Gordon down a manhole and into the sewer tunnels, where he was overcome by the mercenary's dimmest henchmen. The men dragged the dazed Gordon to a makeshift underground command centre, and dropped him at Bane's feet. Furious with the breach in security, Bane killed both men, but the damage was already done. Gordon hurled himself into rushing water, escaping the mercenaries before they could kill him.

Sources informed Bane that police were downplaying the concussed Gordon's claims of a masked man and underground army, in the belief that he had hallucinated. Still, with a description of a masked man now in police hands, Bane couldn't afford the risk of being seen again until he made his first planned public appearance at the Stock Exchange.

And yet, he craved a woman, and had chosen to rely on an old standby — morphine — in order to rise to the surface unmasked.

Having found the appropriate exit to street level, he climbed the utility ladder and carefully slid the manhole cover aside. Determining that he was alone, he launched himself out of the hole.

His feet landed heavily on the surface, and he found himself exactly where he planned to be — standing in a paid parking lot, protected from view by the space between the back of the parking attendant's booth and the wall behind it. To Bane's good fortune, the parking attendant had left for the evening. One less person to kill. He estimated that he was one block east of the library, where Miranda conducted her annual charade, and he smiled, warmed by the prospect of her proximity.

The mercenary had run operations around the world, facilitating military coups and exploiting the weak and vulnerable in the process. When women approached, they usually offered themselves sexually in return for favours. Most of the time they were mothers who would understandably do anything to feed their young.

But desperate women were far too easy. Bane loved a challenge.

The women who attracted him most were unflappably virtuous — the ones who placed self respect far above sexual attraction, and would never dare embark upon a steamy affair with a masked man, no matter how desirable he may be. Bane knew the type immediately, although she wasn't always easy to find. Whenever the right one caught his eye, he ordered Barsad to pluck her from the streets and bring her to him. When she resisted his advances, he would wear her down with practiced charm, persuasive words, and skilful strokes — until she swooned into his arms. The enticement could take hours, days, or even weeks. He was extremely confident of his personal magnetism, and in matters of the fair sex he always got his way. His powers of seduction were legendary among his men, although they were skills he'd actually learned from Talia.

With Barsad otherwise occupied for the night, Bane had decided to do the 'plucking' himself.

As it was a busy evening, he fully expected that a number of women would pass his way – those who'd been forced to park in the paid lot because the valet parking at the library was full. Some would be escorted, but surely some would be alone. He remained hidden between the booth and the wall, and watched as groups of chatty couples and singles collected their vehicles and drove off.

An hour passed quickly and he still had not seen a woman he desired. Then, just as he began to fear that his morphine injection was wearing off, he saw her…

The chosen one sprinted out of the darkness and into the dim light of the lot, lifting the skirts of her evening gown to facilitate her movement. Despite the restraints of her dress, he noted the determination and confidence in her stride, and that she showed no fear of being alone in a parking lot after midnight.

Smirking, he timed her approach, bearing down on her like a smart missile from his hiding place. In five seconds she would pass, so he shifted himself into position to the left of the booth, readying for interception.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

With the speed of light, Bane snatched the woman by her left arm as she rushed past the booth.

"Wha-!" She gasped as she staggered clumsily. One of her sandals flew off, and if her assailant hadn't held her firmly in his grasp, she would have tumbled to the pavement.

Bereft of the mask, Bane's voice was soft and gravelly. "What have we here?" He inquired charmingly, continuing to grip the young woman's arm with incredible strength. "You are my first catch of the day!"

"What the hell? Let go of me!" Astonished by the man's iron grip and huge size, the woman recognized immediately that she was no match for him. Nevertheless, the instincts of her training kicked into high gear.

Observation was key to her profession, and she quickly assembled a description of the man. He spoke in cultivated British tones and dressed like a fashionable big game hunter. An immaculate belted jacket topped well-worn cargo pants, knee pads and sturdy boots that were fastened with velcro and buckles.

Her assailant wrenched her firmly against his chest to get a closer look at her, and she responded by punching him hard in the stomach with her free right hand. It was an action that left her howling in pain, and she shoved her balled fist into her mouth, holding her breath while the pain passed.

The bastard was wearing a hard, bulletproof vest!

Ripping the minimalist black mask from her face, the fascinated mercenary examined her greedily. A long, silky mane of strawberry blonde hair framed an oval face. Curvaceous lips, with eyes the same colour as her crystal blue gown.

Overwhelmed, he gasped and silently congratulated himself for his impeccable eye.

"Identify yourself!" He commanded. Intense curiosity oozed from every pore of his being, and the woman shivered involuntarily.

"Let go of me now, sir." She ordered as she continued to struggle hard against his grip. "Police officer, Gotham City PD!"

"Of course you are!" He mocked softly as he deftly lifted the long skirts of her gown with his left hand. "That is why you dress in haute couture."

"Release me, sir, or I'm afraid I'll have to place you under arrest." The young woman was beginning to feel very vulnerable, but tried to maintain a strong and steady speaking voice.

Nimbly climbing her exposed thigh, the monolith's fingers moved like the legs of a tarantula. She winced, feeling the tips of his fingers one by one, and her stomach churned at the prospect of the assault that was to come.

With all the courage and authority she could gather, she confronted the dark, determined expression of the man about to have his way with her.

"No! Sir, you don't want to do this. I want you to think about the consequences of your actions, and release me."

The big, bald man beamed from ear to ear. "But I do want to do this, my dear." He insisted. "I am a man who sees in the dark, and I see that the front panel of your gown is quite transparent." His hot, probing fingers found her garter, and slipped easily between her legs.

Instinctively, the woman shut her eyes, held her breath and clenched.

"And I see your weapon!" Her attacker deliberately snapped the garter against her leg as he removed the cold steel warmed by her thighs. His forefinger delicately held the gun by its trigger guard, and waved it in front of the woman's face.

"A gun at a charity ball?" He admonished playfully.

Now it was her turn to make a move. The man had blundered in lifting her skirts, freeing her right leg from the confines of the voluminous gown. With a battle cry heard far beyond the parking lot, she plowed her knee ferociously into his groin.

Releasing her, he doubled over and the gun flew from his finger into her waiting hands. The attacker fell back against the wall, and slid unceremoniously to the ground in front of her, shuddering as he gripped his painful manhood.

"Not so smug now are you, big boy?" She panted heavily as she pointed the pistol directly at his crotch. "Next time, when a woman says no, she means no!" The woman locked eyes with him for a moment, again taking note of his mesmerizing gaze, and raised her voice accordingly.

"You're under arrest for sexual assault on a police officer!"

Somewhere behind her, a car squealed to a stop and the driver door flew open.

"Gordon! What have you got?"

She recognized the voice of Officer John Blake, who had drawn his weapon and approached his fellow officer from the rear. He had spotted her holding her gun on an unseen perpetrator as he too prepared to leave the charity ball.

"Sexual assault on a police officer." Her voice shook as she briefly turned her eyes away from her attacker to acknowledge the tuxedo-clad police officer behind her. "Cuff him while I cover you! And watch it. He's trick—"

In the mere seconds that she had taken her eyes off her assailant, he had disappeared. She blinked, beginning to panic.

"Behind the booth!" She spoke lowly, indicating that Blake should approach from the left while she did the same from the right.

"Come out of there with your hands in the air, sir!" Blake shouted. "There's nowhere else to go."

Guns poised, they soon discovered that the space between the back of the booth and the wall was empty.

Officer Gordon stepped into the grimy space, never realizing that the skirts of her gown completely covered the closed manhole where her would-be rapist had made a skilful escape.

"How did he get away?" She asked incredulously, as she lowered her gun.

"Maybe he didn't." Blake said grimly. "We'll take my car and search the neighbourhood."

"I lost a sandal" Gordon complained as she searched the area with Blake's flashlight. "They were expensive and they have to be auctioned off..."

"Just get in the car, Gordon. I'll drive." Blake said impatiently. "Who are we looking for?"

"The suspect is dressed like he's on a hunting safari. Big. Bald. British accent. Deep, dark eyes, and an engaging smile.

"Jesus, Gordon!" Blake frowned. "You can tell you're a rookie. You gotta watch those adjectives. You're a cop, not a romance novelist. Let's just go with big and bald for now, okay?"

The two police officers eventually regrouped in the parking lot, empty-handed. The streets were full of Miranda Tate's guests who were either walking or driving home from the event, but no one matching the description of Officer Gordon's assailant had been seen or found.

"How could he have just vanished into thin air?" The frustrated rookie demanded.

"Don't ask me." Blake shrugged. "I never even saw the guy. He couldn't have climbed up this wall, unless he's Spider-Man."

"It's not a joke, Blake! He touched me! He put his hand up my dress and pulled the gun out of my garter!"

Blake squeezed her hand apologetically. "Sorry. Let's file a report, and then maybe you'll want to… talk to someone about it?"

The rookie shook her head silently. It wasn't easy being the daughter of Commissioner James Gordon.

"No report! It would be different if we had caught him, because then Dad would be passing around cigars. But if he finds out that I was assaulted and failed to catch him, he'll go ballistic. I'll be his little girl all over again, and he'll make sure I have a desk job for the rest of my career."

John Blake's worried expression softened. "I understand your reluctance. Look, there's no hurry, okay? You know you can report a sexual assault at any time. But I want you to think about it. The sooner we get this guy, the better."

"I promise I'll think about it." Gordon sighed. "Thanks for keeping my secret, Blake."

Deep in Gotham's sewer system, a curious Bane examined the formation of tea leaves floating in the bottom of his cup. He had returned to the makeshift command centre following his sortie to the parking lot. Now stripped to the waist, with the mask returned to its rightful place, he turned his attentions to the smouldering embers of the fire he'd built earlier in the day.

His evening hadn't quite turned out the way he had expected, and yet he felt strangely elated…

She could not possibly be a police officer! And yet, there was something authentic in her vernacular. His brow furrowed with intrigue as he pulled her delicate sandal out of his pocket. She was strong for a small woman, but not strong enough. He'd faked injury, and allowed her to go free for the simple reason that he wanted to chase her. And he would chase her, just as soon as he learned her identity.

Smiling, he tossed the remains of the tea into the fire, and rose to dress for his late night meeting with Talia.

Inside her tiny two-room apartment, the rookie police officer lay on her bed, staring at the moonlight that poured through the loft windows. It was after 2:00 a.m., and she was deeply troubled by her encounter with the man in the parking lot.

She jumped out of bed and checked the lock on her apartment door for the fifth time, jamming the door handle with a broomstick for good measure. The fact that she was a police officer who had managed to disable her attacker was of no comfort to her now. She was merely a terrified woman who couldn't stop the flow of potential scenarios in her mind.

What if she had not been able to disable him? She had no doubt that his instrument of rape would have been more than just a finger. She shivered, remembering the feel of his hot, hard groin against her knee.

And what if he had dragged her behind the attendant's booth? Would Blake have noticed when he arrived to get his car? Would anyone have noticed? Would she have been able to scream?

Had he planned to kill her with her own gun after violating her?

Who was he, and why had he chosen her? Had he been stalking her all evening, or for days?

And where was he now? Did he know her address? Would he return for her?

Blake was right. She should report the incident. Somewhere in the night, a Herculean rapist was trolling for victims in dark parking lots. And if she didn't report it, she was responsible for all of his future victims.

She activated her phone, and waited for the warm voice of her father to answer. Although hospitalized with gunshot wounds and a concussion, James Gordon was still awake. Wounded or not, he was a chronic insomniac.

"Izzy? I'm glad you called. Did you get home safely?"

The police commissioner's daughter wanted desperately to tell him everything and have a good cry, but if she did he'd have her transferred to a desk job. She didn't want that. She loved being a beat cop. On most days she was proud and happy to serve the people of Gotham. She only wished she could be more worthy of them.

"I figured you'd be awake, Dad." She tried to sound as light-hearted as possible as she scolded him.

"Well, if I'd been asleep I'd have missed your call!" He responded playfully. "Did you get home safely?" He asked again.

"Of course I got home safely! I'm a cop, remember?" She almost choked on the irony of her words. "How are you feeling tonight, Daddy?"

"Better. The doctors say I'll be off the oxygen in a few days. It's lucky for me I can keep Foley on his toes from here."

"You've been shot, Dad! Why don't you just appoint Foley acting commissioner and take a medical leave?"

"Absolutely not, Izzy!" The middle-aged man insisted. "I need to lead on this case, because I know what I saw in the sewers — a masked man, and men with jackhammers and automatic weapons. That damn Foley's been dragging his feet because he thinks I dreamed the whole thing. I have to keep the pressure on him!"

"I believe you. And don't worry - we're going to get the masked man."

"Well you just never mind him for now!" Gordon said dismissively. "I showed the nurse the pictures you sent to my phone. You looked beautiful tonight, honey. I'm proud of you!"

Signing inwardly, she wondered if he would ever be as proud of her as a police officer as he was of her dressed in a beautiful gown. She fingered the soiled hem of the dress that was now draped over a nearby chair. She would never have been able to afford it under normal circumstances. Fortunately for her, Miranda Tate required that police presence at her charity ball appear in formal wear, and insisted on providing the clothing herself. To avoid any perceptions of impropriety, the police always auctioned the clothing afterwards in support of one of Miranda's charities.

"It was quite an experience living the high life if only for a few hours. I had to keep reminding myself that I was a working cop and not one of Miranda Tate's society sycophants." She closed her eyes, frowning as she spoke. The incident in the parking lot had altered her perception forever, and she would never be able look back on the ball as the exhilarating experience it had been for a few brief hours.

"I just wish I could have been there with you. You call your mother tomorrow and tell her all about it, okay?" James Gordon spoke softly, as if his daughter were still a child.

"I will, Dad." An awkward silence suddenly fell between father and daughter.

"Everything alright?" He asked perceptively.

She paused for a moment, swallowing the tears that threatened. There was something she could tell him.

"Dad, have you ever had a day on the job when you could have been a better cop? What I mean is, because I took my eyes off a suspect for a split second tonight, he got away." She thought it better not to mention that she lost her sandal, and had to be driven home by John Blake. In addition to being assaulted, her skills as a police officer had been tested, and she had failed miserably thanks to the bald bastard who pounced on her.

"I knew there was something wrong!" Gordon observed astutely. "Izzy, there will always be mistakes, and regrets. It's part of the job. I warned you about that." James Gordon knew only too well about mistakes and regrets. He had an 8-year old burden on his soul, and keeping it a secret had never been easy.

"Do you want to talk about it, honey?"

"No, it'll keep. I'm a big girl, and I'll work it out." She sighed. "Try to sleep, Dad, and I'll be over to see you tomorrow afternoon."

Bane paced before the fire in the darkened great room of Miranda Tate's lavish penthouse. He was alone, of course. Because he and Talia had scheduled to meet after the charity ball, Miranda had given the servants the night off.

At approximately 2:30 a.m. he heard her private elevator open. Seconds later she appeared, switching on a single lamp in the room.

The mercenary's breath caught in his throat. She wore a spectacular red evening gown with a bodice that expertly cradled her magnificent breasts. He was certain there was no other woman in the world who had been so gifted by nature, with her large sapphire eyes, pert nose and tumbling auburn hair. A consummate charmer, she could dazzle a cobra into submission. Miranda would have made one undeserving Gotham male a magnificent lover in another life...

But, Miranda was Talia al Ghul, and her life had been pre-destined.

She kissed Bane lightly on his exposed cheeks, and collapsed into the chair by the fire, obviously pleased with herself.

"Bruce was in attendance, just as we hoped." She grinned mischievously. "Mission accomplished, brother. Miranda made it known that she had not given up on the energy project, and she left him with the distinct impression that she was disappointed in his lack of faith. You should have seen the look on his face! He's mesmerized by her and desperate for her approval. Expect them to see one another again very soon because he will want to correct the false impression she has of him."

Bane's eyes swept Talia's shapely form. "He would be even more the fool if he were not interested."

"But it seems she already has a rival. After she left him, he danced with a dark haired beauty with a pouty mouth. They shared a very intense conversation, and a rough kiss. Miranda will have to keep an eye on her, because it is to our benefit that Miranda has no competitors."

"I'm pleased to hear the ball conformed with our plan." Bane enthused. "But I wish you would abstain from alcohol at these functions, Talia. I fear you will allow your identity to slip and all will be lost."

"Oh, stop fussing, Bane!" She yawned. "When in Rome, we do as the Romans do. Now, what is the news from the sewers?"

The mercenary's brow wrinkled. He loathed reporting bad news.

"We have obtained Wayne's fingerprints, but not without consequence. Selina Kyle out-smarted Philip Stryver at the transfer point, and Stryver's blunder brought a SWAT team along with Commissioner James Gordon into the sewers. Two of our men knocked him down and foolishly brought him to the command centre. Unfortunately, he had a good view of our underground operations before tossing himself into a watery exit. He is currently under guard at Gotham General, and our sources tell us that the police aren't taking his claims of an underground army seriously. Still, it is only a matter of time before the authorities link myself and the operation in Uzbekistan with Gordon's claims."

"Bring those sewer men to me!" Talia sighed. "I'm out of practice, and it is time I dispensed a little justice of my own."

"I have already disposed of them." Bane told her calmly. "There is an upside to all of this bad news, Talia. We found a confessional letter on Gordon, one that reveals an 8-year lie involving the Batman, Gordon and Harvey Dent. When the truth is known, it should enrage the people of Gotham. I have a plan for the letter, and I am eager for you to hear it."

"What would I do without you, brother?" Talia cooed. "The letter shall be my bedtime story for tonight. Meet me here tomorrow evening at 10:00 and we'll discuss your plan. I'm so tired, my dear. Is there any other business to discuss tonight?"

"Just one more thing." Bane slipped the letter into Talia's manicured hands. "I ask a favour of you, my dear — your assistance in identifying a woman."

A smile tugged at Talia's lips and she rolled her eyes emphatically.

"Oh, Bane dear! Not again! I go through this with you on every mission!" Talia's reproach was gentle. "You are too easily led around by your penis, my friend."

"That is your doing, child." Bane smirked. "You were my instructor. I have toiled around the clock in inhumane conditions to bring us to this point in Gotham. Surely you would not deny me a reward for my greatest achievement."

"She must be pretty or you wouldn't give her the time of day", the auburn-haired goddess conceded.

Bane moved behind Talia's chair and began to massage her tight shoulders. "How could she not be, when you have set my standards of beauty so high? I only know that she attended your ball tonight. Fair-haired and dressed in a crystal blue gown. There is the possibility that she is a police officer."

"Of course, Bane!" Talia's eyes widened in instant recognition, understanding that they had both had stumbled on a destiny that could not be denied.

"She was part of the security detail. I put her in a blue Zuhair Murad gown. If the police commissioner has become essential to our plan, then she will be very useful to us as well. The woman you want is his daughter - Officer Winslow Gordon. Congratulations, brother. You chose well."

Behind the mask, Bane gasped softly and his member hardened with anticipation. A Gotham City police officer was the ultimate conquest, but the daughter of James Gordon was a prize indeed. He would thoroughly enjoy making Officer Gordon love him, and he was itching to get started. For now, the girl belonged to him, and he would decide when and if she played a role in their plan.

"Thank you, my dear." He said lightly, giving Talia's shoulders one last squeeze. "I will take it from here."

Talia rose, following him to a hidden exit, the train of her red gown waltzing along the carpeted floor behind her. A frown had replaced her normally placid expression.

"I do wish you'd be careful, Bane." She cautioned as she took his hand. "One of these days you're going to fall in love, or face fatherhood. And what use will you be to the League then?"

"That will never happen." Bane assured her. "My appetites are merely recreational. I have complete control over them, and they do not interfere with my work. Your gift for seduction is a necessary tool in your role as Miranda Tate, and I know you will take equal care in your relationship with Bruce."

"Touché, brother." She said reluctantly, giving his hand one last squeeze. "Good night."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sun had just risen when Harjit Sajjan unlocked the door of the parking booth he operated six days a week. His daily routine was simple: slip the lunch his wife had carefully prepared into the mini fridge, switch on the large red and white 'Public Parking' sign, shine the windows, and sweep the area around the booth.

The 28-year old Sikh had emigrated to Gotham from Punjab, India where he had once managed a call centre. Thanks to his exposure to several large North American clients and American television, Harjit's curiosity soon gave way to wanderlust, and he convinced his reluctant family that Gotham City was the place to be.

He had held a few jobs since immigrating two years ago. Security guard, taxi driver, and now parking attendant. The parking job was his favourite so far, because it exposed him to a steady clientele, many who had become professional contacts. He valued his new friends.

Harjit had just finished sweeping when he noticed a woman approaching from across the lot. Frowning, he soon realized that she was a police officer, and he nervously stepped out of the booth.

"Good morning, sir." The policewoman squinted at the attendant in the bright morning sun. "I'm Officer Gordon, Gotham City PD, and I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I am a husband, father, and a student at Gotham Tech, soon to be an American citizen," the Indian blustered defensively.

Winslow cautioned the alarmed attendant. "Just relax, sir. I'm not here about your citizenship, okay? A woman was assaulted here late last night, and I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I have done nothing wrong!" Harjit protested. "I returned home to my wife and child at 7:00 pm!"

Gordon knew only too well that the parking attendant feared arrest for a crime that he had not committed, and of being shipped back to the land of his birth. It was the same for many of the newcomers to America she interviewed.

What's your name, sir?

"Harjit. Harjit Sajjan." The turbaned man's quiet voice sounded in defeat.

"Harjit, I'm not here to arrest you, and you're not in any trouble. I have a description of the man responsible for the assault, and I need your help in locating him."

Harjit nodded. "If I can help, I will."

He couldn't have known that the shadows under the police officer's eyes were due to a sleepless night, and he couldn't have known that she was the woman who had been assaulted where they both stood.

"The suspect is well over 6 feet tall, very muscular and completely bald. He has huge hands…." Winslow shivered as she remembered the intrusion of the man's fingers on her inner thighs. "He was wearing a belted safari-style jacket, suede boots and cargo pants with knee pads. Do you recall seeing anyone who matches that description, Harjit?"

The Sikh shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Madam, but no. I'm not a tall man, and I would remember one so large."

The daughter of James Gordon indicated the gap between the booth and the wall of the building behind.

"Do you see that space, Harjit? He knew there would be women leaving the charity ball next door. He hid behind the booth until he decided to make his move, jumped out and assaulted his victim. And then he disappeared."

She pointed her flashlight into the gap and immediately discovered her attacker's mode of escape, which she and John Blake had been unable to determine the night before.

A large, covered manhole occupied the pavement between the booth and the wall. Winslow's heart sank and she cursed herself for her incompetence. She hadn't seen the manhole last night, because the skirts of her gown had completely covered it.

If not for the damn dress, they would have seen the manhole cover and had a chance to catch her attacker. Now he was long gone.

Time stood still as she stared at the manhole, and a troubling thought occurred to her.

"Have you ever seen anyone go in or out of that manhole, Harjit? City workers, or anyone at all?"

"Never. I have often wondered if it is forgotten by the water department."

The rookie nodded at Harjit's observation. "Exactly. Could be that the suspect thought the same thing, and that's why he chose it as his mode of escape."

"I'm sorry that a crime was committed here." Harjit's eyes were genuinely regretful. "This is my post, and I take pride in it."

Winslow reached into her jacket and pulled her card from her breast pocket, handing it to the Sikh.

"If you see the man I've described, or notice any suspicious activity around that manhole, or remember anything at all… call me."

"I will do so, Madam."

Winslow had begun to walk away when she stopped suddenly and turned to address the attendant once more.

"One more thing, Harjit… the victim lost a sandal during the attack. The strap is encrusted with diamonds. Naturally, she'd like to have it back."

Once again the immigrant felt threatened. Was she suggesting that he had the expensive sandal in his possession?

"I swept the area just now. On my honour, I haven't seen it." He protested.

"Then you won't mind if I have a look inside your booth."

Winslow knew the man was uneasy, but she had a job to do. She stepped into the square booth, pointing her flashlight into all the dark corners. When she was satisfied that there was no sandal, she opened the small fridge and called out to Harjit.

"What's for lunch today, Harjit?"

For the first time during their encounter, the Sikh smiled.

"Tandoori chicken and masala channa, prepared by my wife."

Winslow stepped out of the booth and observed Harjit thoughtfully.

"Tandoori chicken. You like it cold?"

Harjit smiled again, beginning to understand that the woman police officer was treading a fine line between doing her job and alleviating his anxieties.

"Yes." He replied cheerfully. "I like it cold."

Before arriving for her shift, Winslow stopped at Jimmy's Coffee, a spot popular with the officers of the 43rd Precinct. There she met John Blake, and take-out coffee in hand, they walked the short distance to the precinct, where their daily roll call and briefing was about to begin.

"I didn't expect to see you. You should take a few days." He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I can't, Blake. My mind went to a million places last night, and I didn't sleep at all. I decided to get up early to go back to the parking lot. No luck with the attendant there – he hadn't seen anyone fitting the description. I did, however, determine how my attacker got away."

Blake stopped in his tracks. "You gonna keep me in suspense?"

Winslow sighed, ashamed of herself. "There's a manhole behind the booth. We would have seen it if the hem of my gown hadn't covered it."

Blake frowned. "Wait, wait, wait! A manhole?"

"Yes. A manhole, and stop right there - I know what you're thinking."

"Gordon, your dad went down a manhole and was shot at by an underground army! Your assailant could be one of those guys. Get him and we might get the rest of them, or vice versa."

A look of anguish crossed the silent Winslow Gordon, and she reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Doesn't Foley have a team going through the tunnels?"

"He - he could give a shit! He sent a skeleton crew down there. You're father is putting pressure on him but Foley thinks your dad dreamed it all." Blake sighed and hovered over her concernedly.

"Look, I have no idea how it feels to be violated, but we need to find the guys that tried to kill your father, and we need to get the guy who attacked you. These two incidents have to be related, Gordon. You have to report your assault."

"Just give me a few days, Blake. I know it wasn't my fault, but I feel like it was. I feel like I did something to encourage him. I feel like I deserved what I got. Not to mention that as a police officer I made mistakes last night, and that's been almost as traumatizing as feeling that man's fingers between my thighs. And there's my father to think about. He'll go ballistic, and I don't want him to upset him while he's recuperating."

Blake shook his head in disbelief. "We all make mistakes, Gordon, and you're making another one by trying to solve your own assault. Just do me a favour and tell your partner, okay? Maybe she can knock some sense into you."

"Goddam men! God damn them all!"

Officer Abigail Murtaugh pounded furiously on the steering wheel of the police cruiser she and partner Winslow Gordon shared.

Their pasta lunches lay untouched, cooling on the seat between them as Winslow relayed the details of her assault.

"I'm so sorry, honey! I'm so sorry this happened to you." Abby pulled Winslow into an enormous hug, and they clung to one another as Winslow finally allowed herself to shed tears. Her 35-year old partner had seen it all where crimes against women were concerned – domestic abuse, rape, and murder. The divorced mother of two had refused to become hardened by exposure to those crimes, and she was especially grateful for her sensitivity now that her young partner had been victimized.

"I completely understand your reluctance, and all of your fears of your dad's interference. But, Blake's right. You have to report it at some point, and you should take some time off. You know I'll back you up whatever you decide."

"I will Murtagh, but I'm way too emotional right now." She wiped her tears with a paper napkin and sniffed. "I want to get control of myself, and right now work is the distraction I need." Winslow attempted to swallow a forkful of pasta and gagged on the effort. She wondered if she would ever be able to eat again.

It was well past 10:00 p.m. when Bane returned to Talia's penthouse to discuss his plans for the handwritten speech his men had found as they searched James Gordon. The speech revealed the true villainy of popular D.A. Harvey Dent, in whose name an unjust act had been passed following his shocking death.

Bane paced as he reviewed the contents of the speech with Talia.

"Bruce and James Gordon hatched a plan to protect Gotham from learning the truth about Harvey Dent, fearing the city would lose all hope if it knew its cherished white knight had become a murderous psychopath. One thousand men have been incarcerated in Blackgate Prison and denied parole thanks to that lie, and the Dent Act's harsh stand on organized crime. But in recent times Gordon's conscious bothered him, and he planned to make a confession at the Harvey Dent Day celebrations. For reasons unknown he did not go through with it."

Talia lay curled up in her favourite chair by a roaring fire, sipping from a glass of red wine. She was still wearing the navy blue business suit she had worn to Wayne Enterprises that day in her role as Miranda Tate.

"I missed the speech he did give, because I was inside that dreary mansion trying to charm Alfred into allowing me to see Bruce. How is it that the sanctimonious wallflower Rachel Dawes managed to win the heart of not only one, but two of Gotham's most eligible bachelors? No matter, I'll make Bruce forget her in the blink of an eye." She looked up at the mercenary with a sly grin..

Bane stopped pacing, concerned by her apparent disinterest in his discovery. Frowning, he took the glass of wine from her hand and tossed it into the fire.

"I have no doubt that you will eventually lure Bruce into your web, my dear, but you are not Miranda Tate now, and we are not socializing. There are decisions to be made and there is work to be done tonight."

"Haven't I warned you to stop fussing, brother? You should know that I've privately worried about the prospect of spending months in Gotham when all we have is a bomb to control the people. Gordon's revelation is the spike our plan needs to truly make our mark on this city. I memorized this speech last night, I'll have you know."

The daughter of Ra's al Ghul stretched lazily and moved into a seated position, preparing for a more business-like conversation with the mercenary.

"Now… tell me…what is your plan?"

Bane's chest expanded with pride as his masked wheezed. He could hardly wait to share the details.

"With your permission, I plan to read it aloud to the people of Gotham, to act it out on a broad stage, and appeal to them as their equal – someone who like they, has been kept down by the myths of opportunity promised by the rich and corrupt. It will be a similar situation to our plan for the football stadium, except that I will engage the mob rather than terrorize it."

"I like your plan already!" Talia enthused. "Where exactly is this 'broad stage' on which you wish to perform?" She was grinning from ear to ear, very proud of her protector.

"Where else but at the foot of Blackgate Prison, where the inmates can overhear me as I address the people? I shall expose both Harvey Dent and James Gordon, and present the speech as the heart of the deep vein of corruption that runs throughout this city. When I have won the people over, I will hand the city over to the them, release the oppressed inmates, and raise an army among them."

Talia rose from her chair. "Knowing you as I do, your script is already written."

Bane was silent, but the twinkle in his eyes revealed all.

"I have witnessed your performance at the helm of a coup before, so I have no doubt that your plan will succeed. You are a born politician, and you thrive in front of an audience. That can only help us, so of course you have my permission, Bane."

Bane nodded. "Thank you, my dear." His quiet response was laced with a rare humility.

"But you must be cautious when you refer to Bruce's role in the deception, because Gordon's revelation clears him of murder. Gotham must not be allowed to love the Batman again."

"Do not concern yourself. When I am done with them, the last person they will be thinking about will be the Batman."

For the next several hours they discussed the details of their upcoming operations at the Stock Exchange and Gotham Stadium. Eventually, Bane pulled on his belted jacket, ready to return to his cold, damp home in the sewers.

"We are not quite done, brother." Talia's voice was firm. "Have you taken Gordon's daughter yet? We will need to start integrating her into our plan."

Bane smiled mysteriously behind his mask. "My men are monitoring her as we speak. I wish to observe her for a few days before taking her into my custody."

Talia rose from her chair. "Don't be foolish, brother. She is both a police officer and a woman. She will have a sixth sense about being followed."

"I assure you, my lieutenant knows what not to do." Despite his confidence in Barsad, Bane realized that Talia had made a good point.

Sauntering over to the bar, he poured her another glass of wine and passed it to her, wondering if perhaps he should not have tossed her previous drink into the fire. He was reluctant to get into any conversations about the Gordon girl, and he was beginning to regret having asked for Talia's help in identifying her.

Ever since Bane was a young man, his life had revolved around Talia. He protected her in prison, shielded her from Ra's al Ghul's poor parenting and raised her to the top of the League of Shadows. From the time he awoke in the morning to the time he lay down at night, she was his priority. Although Bane had few complaints, he knew it was not the healthiest way for a man to exist.

Talia enjoyed another life as Miranda Tate, and even though achieving that other life had meant years of hard work and sacrifice, Bane knew she could never forget her past as an imprisoned orphan. How could she not enjoy the penthouse, the clothes, the male admiration and respect? How could she not enjoy the charity balls and the power she had acquired at Wayne Enterprises? She would surely miss it all once their job in Gotham was done…

And just as Talia thrived on being Miranda Tate, Bane needed a little corner to himself apart from her, in order to remain sane. He was a man in his prime who needed more than mere power as a means of self-expression. He was, despite the claims of the CIA, only human.

"My dear, I have chosen Officer Gordon as a reward for all that I have achieved so far in Gotham, can you understand? I do not deny that she can be useful to us, but for now, the girl is mine to do with whatever I please."

Talia caressed Bane's left sleeve affectionately. "Of course you should be rewarded!" She sipped her wine delicately. "And I do understand your needs. Will you allow me to supply you with women from now on? My gift to you?"

Bane sighed inwardly. Choosing the woman was as important as conquering her, and he was highly skilled at both. He took great pride in his prowess. He loved Talia and lived to please her but in no way did he want her involved in his sex life. That belonged solely to him.

"I'm afraid not, my dear. I do appreciate the offer, but I cannot allow you to be involved in such an unsavoury business. You have a spotless reputation to maintain as Miranda Tate. Barsad and I have a system that works, and we make a very good team…"

"Very well then, brother. Please keep me informed of your progress with her." Talia had put down her glass of wine to fasten the snaps of Bane's jacket. Once she had secured his belt, she rested her hands on his enormous chest.

"I expect frequent updates on your progress with her, and I want to know everything." She beamed mischievously at the giant. "You know we've never been shy about the details..."

Bane's brow furrowed in reaction to her words. No one anticipated 'progress' with the daughter of James Gordon more than he...

"Now, brother!" Surprisingly, Talia was all business once again. "Are we prepared for the Stock Exchange?"

Two days later, Winslow and her partner had just about finished their shift for the day, when an alert came over the radio. Abby listened, then stuck her head out of the cruiser window to call out to her partner, who was trying to convince an intoxicated vagrant to sleep it off at a shelter.

"Gordon, let's go! There's been a hit on the Stock Exchange. Suspects are on motorbikes with hostages, headed for the South Street Tunnel!" Winslow leapt into the passenger seat of the cruiser as Abby hit the accelerator, and the siren.

The suspects had opened fire on the trading floor, executed a series of trades and then took hostages to keep the police from shooting at them. As darkness descended, Deputy Commissioner Foley mobilized units from all over the city in helicopters, cars, and vans. It was an operation on a scale unlike anything the young Gordon had experienced in her brief career as a police officer. In an unexpected turn of events, the hit had drawn out the Batman, and Winslow finally caught a glimpse of the dark knight with whom her father had once worked so closely.

With the aid of the Batman, three bikers were soon taken into custody, but Foley's orders changed, and his priority became the pursuit of the man who had killed Harvey Dent.

Murtaugh was an unashamed fan of the Batman who had never made a secret of her intense dislike for Foley. "Is he friggin' nuts? Who knows how many people they killed inside the Stock Exchange. Why the hell are we chasing the Batman?"

A forth biker in a red helmet - recognizing that police were no longer targeting him - turned his bike around, sailing between two rows of police cars in the opposite direction.

Astounded by his boldness and presence of mind, Winslow watched him disappear into the darkness in her side view mirror. "He's got balls, I'll give him that!"

After disabling the third biker, The Batman found himself briefly surrounded by police, but skillfully evaded them by bouncing his massive motorcycle off an automobile transporter and on to an exit ramp.

A swarm of police cruisers followed, chasing him back into the downtown core. With the law coming at him on both sides, the dark fugitive executed a ninety-degree angle turn and disappeared into a dead end. Led by Blake and Foley, half a dozen police cruisers squealed to a halt around the blind alley. Along with all the other officers, Gordon and Murtaugh leapt out of their vehicle with weapons drawn.

Light filled the darkened alley, and a jet engine roared to life. A bat-like, souped-up helicopter hovered above, stirring up tornado-style winds that threw up garbage from the streets, disoriented police, and left Foley with egg all over his face as it spirited the Batman safely into the night.

Back at the 43rd Precinct, a crowd of police officers stood around watching the security footage of the Stock Exchange hit. Winslow wasn't surprised to find John Blake observing it closely. With two children waiting at home, Abby had left for the day.

Approaching the tv, Winslow focused on one very large man who stalked the trading floor like he was king of the beasts, his face covered by an unsettling, steampunk-style mask.

"There's your father's masked man." Blake said grimly.

Winslow's mouth dropped open, unable to take her eyes off the disturbing mask. Over and over she watched the replay of the monolith taking out victims one by one, using his motorcycle helmet as a weapon. The unforgiving security footage also revealed that he ruthlessly murdered a trader who tried to reason with him, slamming the man's head into a desk.

And then came a realization as Winslow took in the rest of the man's appearance.

The red helmet. The white striped bib on the jacket...

"Blake... this is the one that got away tonight. He's not just a robber. He murdered people today, injured dozens of others. He passed us going in the wrong direction tonight, and the units behind us could have easily blocked him if not for Foley's order."

Blake nodded in affirmation. Despite his disappointment in Foley, he managed a dimpled smile. "You shoulda seen his face when the Batman flew away."

"Oh my God...", Winslow whispered after a period of stunned observation. Her hand trembled and she gripped Blake's arm so tightly that he winced.

"You okay?"

"Those... those knee pads! Blake, that's him! That's the man who tried to rape me."


	3. Chapter 3

An early morning operation was in play at the 43rd Precinct, where streams of uniformed police officers were being herded into police vans for transport into Gotham's system of underground tunnels. Although the action was officially designated as a training operation, the officers were well aware of the real aim of the deployment, which was to force Bane and his men to the surface.

Winslow slammed her locker door shut, preparing to join the throng of officers, when she was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of being watched.

"Are you Gordon's daughter?" An accented male voice sounded behind her and she turned to find a pale-faced officer she didn't recognize.

Frowning at his disrespectful assumption she replied, "It's Officer Gordon. Who are you?"

"Officer Pollock, just transferred over from the 59th Precinct along with Captain Costello. He wants to see you in his office. Now."

"I'm on my way to the tunnels. They're loading us into vans now, and my partner is waiting for me. Why would he choose now to -"

Pollock cut her off rudely. "He says you're not to go into the tunnels with the rest of us. Says he needs you on the ground, not underground."

Frustrated, Winslow headed for the office of the grim new captain. It was obvious that her father had interfered and pulled her from the operation.

The ten minutes she waited in the captain's empty office felt like an hour, until an ominous figure filled the doorway, pointing a high-powered weapon at her.

It was Pollock again, now dressed in cargo pants, khaki jacket, heavy boots and a red scarf.

The police commissioner's daughter rose slowly from her chair, realizing she'd been duped.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Thomas Pollock of Belfast, and I'll be your minder for the next little while." Pollock strode into the office, followed by two other gunmen who quietly took their places in the room.

Turning to address the other men, Pollock shouted, "Feast your eyes, boys! She's a regular Charlie's Angel, isn't she? Is it any wonder Bane wants her?"

At Pollock's invitation, the mercenaries grabbed their crotches, and made various other obscene gestures. Although her expression remained stoic, she was sickened by the level of sexual harassment in the room, and gulped back the bile that had risen in her throat. It was bad enough that she was being ogled by these men, but she was also deeply disturbed by Pollock's words.

Is it any wonder Bane wants her?

It seemed Bane had gone to a great deal of trouble, all because he wanted her. She thought again of the night of the charity ball and the feel of his fingers between her thighs, and she shivered involuntarily.

Pollock spoke again. "Better put the gun down on the desk over there, along with everything else on that belt of yours. Slowly now, and when you're done, sit over by the window. The show's about to begin."

"What show?" Winslow asked, frowning.

"Just be patient, miss. It'll all start soon. We're about to bring Gotham to its knees."

A man's foot poked out from underneath the desk, and she guessed it belonged to the body of Captain Costello. Her mouth tensed into a straight line as she laid her gun on the desk and emptied her belt.

"And don't bother lookin' for a way out, miss. I'm afraid there isn't one." Pollock zip-cuffed her wrists and winked at her as he gestured for her to sit in a chair placed near the windows.

A half hour passed, during which time Pollock goaded her with sexual suggestions, but Winslow refused to look at him, instead peering down at the busy city of Gotham, and waiting.

A low, deep rumble shook the precinct, and Winslow saw black smoke billowing in the distance. Despite her handcuffs, she leapt from her chair and pressed herself against the rattling sixth floor windows. At first she thought the city had been hit with an earthquake, until she realized the explosions were timed and the damage too precise.

Smoke and rubble shot into the air in tandem above the field at Gotham stadium. In the distance, a section of the Midtown Bridge creaked and groaned, until it broke away and collapsed into the bay below.

It was a disaster like nothing Winslow had ever seen. A slow motion bad dream. Gasping, she rounded on Pollock. "What's happening? What the hell are you people doing?"

"Ah now, don't be frightened, miss. The explosives are controlled. They won't penetrate anywhere near us. See, we planned it that way."

"I'm not frightened, you idiot." She yelled. "I'm angry! There were people on that bridge as well as in the stadium."

"That's the idea, miss. So let's see how they're coverin' it on the news." He pulled a remote out of his pocket and switched on the 52" flatscreen on the wall opposite the late captain's desk.

By now Winslow was filled with dread. Her father was recovering at Gotham General from wounds incurred when he was attacked by Bane's men in the sewers, and she feared that the hospital might have been targeted in the explosions, and that he might be dead.

She forced herself to focus on the situation at hand and turned to face the tv. Gotham News Network cameras were broadcasting live at the scene of the bombed-out stadium, surveying a mass of displaced astro turf and broken concrete where explosives had ripped across the field. Above the seating, the cameras revealed a private box that had been blown to pieces. Legions of gunmen travelled up and down the stadium stairs like ants, trapping helpless spectators in their seats.

With every mercenary in his place, the man responsible for the mayhem made a dramatic appearance. Dressed in a high collared shearling coat, the masked man calmly strolled along the sidelines with a satisfied, self-reverential air. An entourage of mercenaries with high powered weapons protected him as they surveyed the crowd.

Winslow frowned at the sight of him. He was the man her father had seen while he was briefly held by the underground army. He was the same man who attacked the Stock Exchange, and the same man who assaulted her the night of the charity ball.

"Smug bastard!" Winslow's whispered observation wasn't as quiet as she had intended it to be.

"That he is, miss," Pollock responded. "He does think well of himself, and with good reason. He gets the job done."

The masked mercenary retrieved a headset from a downed umpire and began to speak to the terrified crowd. His artificially enhanced speech was slightly muffled at times, but Winslow recognized the same musical cadence of the unmasked voice that she had previously heard.

A large weapon was rolled onto the field - a bomb - which Bane introduced as "the instrument of your liberation". Shortly afterwards, a shackled hostage was pushed to his knees. The hapless prisoner identified himself as Dr. Leonid Pavel, the only scientist who could disable the fully primed neutron device.

Bane made short work of the man, viciously twisting his neck. The horrified crowd screamed as the scientist's lifeless body dropped to the ground.

Appalled, Winslow turned and gave Pollock an accusing stare.

Bane announced that he and his men had come as liberators, and yet he enacted martial law. He promised the people they would claim what was rightfully theirs, but warned that the detonator was held by a citizen of Gotham, who would detonate the bomb should anyone try to flee. It was a speech laced with disturbing contradiction.

In short, Gotham had been seized by a dictator.

Winslow did the math. The bomb was armed. The only person who could disarm it was dead, so why threaten to detonate it when it was only going to blow anyway?

What did this man want?

Ignoring the voracious gaze of Pollock, she studied replays of the stadium speech over and over.

Her concentration was eventually broken by the arrival of another mercenary, one that she recognized from the stadium coverage. He was short, bearded, and wearing a vest stocked with ammunition.

"You're relieved, Pollock." He announced.

Ignoring the fact that the bearded man outranked him, Pollock addressed the men once again.

"I don't know about you boys, but I'm sick of the boss takin' all the best of Gotham's women, leavin' us with the dregs!"

"Pollock!" The bearded man cast a warning glance at the Irishman.

As he turned to leave, Pollock grabbed Winslow by the jaw and shoved his thumb deep into her mouth. "I'll have my chance with you, miss. You can count on that." There was a tone in his voice and a gleam in his eye that turned her stomach.

When the Irishman stepped away, the furious Winslow swung her bound wrists. The butt of her hands connected violently against his face, and blood sprayed from his nose as he howled in pain. When he raised his tremulous hands to stem the crimson tide, she slammed her foot into his crotch.

Pollock's screams echoed throughout the precinct, as he dropped to his knees, his bloody hands now gripping his throbbing crotch.

"You bitch! I'll f*ck you on the steps of City Hall!"

"Suck it up, Irish." The bearded man taunted. "I warned you not to touch Bane's things."

"Don't get your damn knickers in a twist, Barsad!" Pollock spat blood. "I meant no harm."

"Yea, well, good luck convincing the boss what you meant!"

Winslow closed her eyes and swallowed hard against her lurching stomach. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that all was not lost. Handcuffed and without a weapon, she was still a police officer who had managed to disable Pollock.

The man who Pollock had addressed as 'Barsad' took her by the arm, leading her into the elevator in the hall.

"Nice moves, ma'am." He nodded at her in admiration. "Better not try that with me, though."

She took note of his assault weapon and the ammunition covered vest. He was a soldier primed for combat.

"Behave yourself and I won't have to." She said, sending him a sharp look.

A confiscated police van awaited at the rear doors of the building. Barsad pushed her inside and sat on the bench opposite her. As the vehicle pulled away from the station, he made a long show of lighting the bent cigarette he'd retrieved from the pack of Camels in his pocket.

Winslow's eyebrow rose. "Bylaw 53a states that smoking is not permitted in any public building or vehicle, sir."

Exhaling a ring of smoke, Barsad chuckled and watched its progress carefully as it curled silently above him and dissipated in the air.

"We don't pay any mind to Gotham's bylaws, rookie."

"Obviously not, but there is a $500 fine, if you're caught."

Barsad straightened in his seat, examining her curiously.

"Uh-huh. And how are you going to write me up while you're wearing those handcuffs?" He teased.

"I'll let you off with a warning for now, sir." She was slightly unnerved by the bright blue colour of his deep-set eyes.

Barsad laughed again. He had a soft voice that sounded slightly sandpapered.

"Name's Barsad, in case you haven't heard." He said amiably.

"That's a first or last name?"

"Just Barsad. Speaking of which, how did you ever end up with a name like Winslow Arizona Gordon?"

"I really don't think you'd understand."

"We got a few minutes. Try me."

She remained silent for a moment, before deciding that it was a good idea to engage the man in polite conversation. She might earn his confidence, or have the opportunity to disarm him, as she had done with Pollock. So why not tell the story once again?

"If you insist." She sighed. "My parents attended one of those big summer music festivals where there are lots of bands on the bill. The Eagles were the headliners at this one, and even though my mother was eight months pregnant at the time, she and my father both thought it would be safe enough to go to the show. It was a very hot day, however, and mom began to feel uncomfortable. Halfway through the band's set, her water broke and she started hard labour. She gave birth to me in an ambulance parked behind the stage."

Barsad burst into high-pitched laughter. "You're serious? Was the band playing that tune when you popped out?"

Winslow tried not to roll her eyes. Always the same question.

"Honestly, my parents don't remember. They were too worried and excited at the same time. They discussed it overnight at the hospital, and the next day I had my name."

Barsad nodded his approval, while Winslow took the opportunity to change the subject.

"You're the same men who hit the Stock Exchange." She observed.

"Not me. I had other duties that afternoon. Watched it on the news, though. Thought the boys did a great job."

"How about telling me what the masked man is really up to?"

"Patience, Officer Gordon." He flicked an ash to floor of the van. "I can tell you that the explosions trapped three thousand of your fellow officers in the tunnels."

"Are... are they dead?" Winslow's complexion grew very pale, and she wondered how the mercenaries learned about the training operation. "My partner's down there!"

"Don't you worry about them, ma'am. They're alive, they can breathe and they'll be fed."

The vehicle came to a stop, and the door opened to the back entrance of a another building. Barsad guided her to a freight elevator, which rose to the 30th floor.

"This is City Hall." She guessed.

"That's right, rookie." Barsad replied. "I'll bet you never knew there were residences above the offices." He led her through double doors and into the foyer of a large suite.

"This suite belonged to the late Mayor Anthony Garcia. He used to bring girls up here!"

Winslow stopped in her tracks. "The mayor's dead?"

"Afraid he was one of the fatalities down at the stadium today, ma'am – a real tragedy for the city if you ask me." Barsad's disturbing smile gave lie to his words as he herded her through another long hallway.

"Have a seat over there." He indicated an enormous sectional sofa.

"I'll stand, thanks. I'm on duty." She said stubbornly.

Barsad sighed. "Now look, ma'am – we started off on the right foot. I guarantee you don't wanna get on my bad side…"

Taking another good look at his assault weapon, she silently agreed and sat down.

She observed her surroundings carefully, noting that the suite was an open plan decorated in modern design. The large sectional was positioned along the north and east walls. One side faced the suite's magnificent floating fireplace. The opposite side faced floor to ceiling windows that afforded spectacular southwestern views of the bay. Beyond the fireplace she glimpsed a dining room with seating for twelve. She assumed the kitchen adjoined the dining room, and that the long hall to her left led to sleeping quarters.

A crew had just finished cleaning the suite, and was removing the mayor's personal belongings.

In the distance there came the sound of heavy footfalls and male voices in the hall of the suite. Then, large as life, the mercenary Bane burst into the main room with a small entourage of soldiers.

His eyes immediately trained on Winslow, and his chest heaved with an emotion that raised her goosebumps. He peeled off his sheepskin coat and tossed it aside, casually approaching her with the same smug satisfaction she'd seen in the stadium coverage.

As the strange mask sucked in oxygen and exhaled ominously, Winslow wondered why he wore such a thing. It's arachnid-like jaws were surely intended to terrify, but the mask was also beautifully designed - a work of art. Gotham had seen its fare share of masked criminals, but this particular mask served up more than mere intimidation. It appeared to be some kind of breathing apparatus for whatever affliction he might be suffering.

Wary of him as both a killer and a rapist, she defied Barsad and stood up from her seat as he came near. She was determined not to show the fear inside her. Bane was even bigger than she remembered.

The mercenary reached behind her head, grabbed the chignon that confined her hair and roughly yanked her head back. The unsteady sounds of the mask only amplified her unease.

He examined her carefully from top to bottom. There wasn't anything remotely feminine about her attire. She was dressed like a man, in a blue-black uniform; a lightweight jacket, a button-down shirt, a dickie that identified her as one of GCPD's finest, trousers and men's shoes. She couldn't have been less like the vision he had encountered the night of the charity ball.

And yet it was she. Bereft of Miranda Tate's styling, Bane noted that Winslow Gordon was an unassuming beauty.

"I believe we've met before, sir." Her gaze was direct despite her anxiety.

Bane released her, amusement dancing in his dark eyes as his fingers twitched maniacally at his sides.

"So you have found me out!" His raspy, enhanced voice reverberated loudly in the room, and Winslow felt the goosebumps rise again. His good humour unsettled her even more. He had been very civil to the scientist, until the moment he broke the man's neck.

"I recognized the knee pads."

Bane's brow rose. "Really? Then I expect you will be making detective quite soon." He scanned the room, suddenly annoyed by the presence of his soldiers in the room, and the smile beneath the mask faded.

"Leave us!" It was an order that almost always excluded Barsad, who made no move to depart. Instead, he pulled up a chair at the windows and rested his boot as he surveyed the fallen city below. Mindful that Bane didn't tolerate smoking, he had replaced his cigarette with a toothpick.

"Do you approve of my choice, brother?" Bane asked as the men filed out of the suite.

Barsad nodded and grinned. "I couldn't have done better myself, boss, but she's gonna be a handful. Pollock got fresh with her, so she busted his nose and kicked him in the balls, all while handcuffed."

"Indeed? I do not think handcuffs will be necessary now, do you?"

"Suit yourself." Barsad shrugged as he handed Bane a pair of clippers.

"I believe Officer Gordon will behave herself while she is with us." He cut the plastic cuffs and removed them from her wrists, smiling again when he felt her shiver as his fingertips brushed against the sweaty palms of her hands.

He had studied Commissioner James Gordon carefully in preparation for the invasion of Gotham, and he knew everything about the man as a police officer, friend of the Batman, husband and father. He had obtained and watched hours of Gordon's interrogations of criminals, especially that of Joker, and had observed the man's character. He was unfailingly decent, committed to justice, but as Bane had recently learned, not above deceit when it became necessary. The man was soft-spoken most of the time, but had a tendency to launch into frustrated tirades.

Physically, there was not a trace of James Gordon in his daughter.

"Your father is a rather owlish looking man." He observed bluntly. "You look nothing like him. Please extend my compliments to your mother."

Winslow blinked. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear, sir."

"Now then, Winslow Arizona Gordon. Explain the significance of your name."

Barsad looked up, with no fear of interrupting. "It's a long story, boss. I'll tell you later."

Bane observed Barsad curiously, and then returned his gaze to Winslow.

"Very well." His pace was deliberate as he circled the rookie officer. "You are the child of Police Commissioner James Gordon and his ex-wife, Barbara. You are educated, with degrees in Psychology and Criminology. You are a police officer, age 26 and unmarried…" Bane breathed deeply, feeling his manhood lift in his pants. His robotic voice deepened significantly at his next words. "...and you have no steady beau."

Shattered, Winslow finally found words. "You've been stalking me."

"Not until after our post-charity ball encounter. I am fortunate that a dear friend took notice of you at the event – someone who knew your identity, otherwise I only had one clue." He pulled her missing diamond-encrusted sandal out of his pocket and held it out to her.

"I assume the shoe fits?"

Humiliated by the obvious reference, Winslow snatched the sandal from him and shoved it into her own pocket.

"Thank you." She said sourly, unable to prevent herself from blushing. Today was her day to be objectified by the male of the species.

"What is it you want from me, sir?" She asked guardedly.

Bane paused for a moment. "I am a man. You are a woman. I would think what I want is obvious."

"You want to finish the job you started the other night. You want to rape me."

Bane's eyes darkened with sudden rage as his brow wrinkled. "I would never commit such a barbarous act. I am a gentleman."

"Really, sir? What kind of 'gentleman' grabs a woman in a dark parking lot?"

It was rare that Bane found himself at a loss for words, but there was no doubt about it – her question had startled him. He stared at her for a long moment, before speaking again.

"Allow me to defend myself, Winslow. I grew to manhood in a prison where the strong rose to the top on the backs of the weak. Indeed, it was the survival of the fittest every day, and thus I became the protector of a woman prisoner and her child. One day they were attacked by a group of inmates. I could not save them both, so I made a choice, cradling the child while I listened to the men gang-rape and murder the mother. I have never tolerated rape since."

Winslow remained unconvinced, and didn't respond.

Suddenly Bane found himself hovering even closer to her. He needed Winslow to understand him.

"My fortunes changed and I eventually left that place. I acquired an education, and a gentleman's manners. But sometimes, old instincts rise to the surface."

"That's all very well, but how long do you plan to keep me here? I have a job to do out there. Or are you afraid of the damage a female police officer can do?" Winslow's words were strained with fear of the unknown. It was unlikely that he was going to allow her to leave.

Bane stood his ground and continued his defence.

"It was thoughtless of me, Winslow, to approach you the way I did that night. I fully understand how my behaviour made you feel threatened, and I assure you that I had no intentions of violating you. A man in my position is lonely at times. I merely wished to relieve you of your weapon and speak to you."

"Speak to me? About what?"

"When does a man need an excuse to talk to a lovely woman? I admit to feeling quite breathless at the sight of you."

What Bane deliberately didn't say was that he'd had every intention of seducing her.

The rookie narrowed her eyes, peering suspiciously at him.

"Look, sir. You can't do this. You can't just arbitrarily grab a woman off the streets, even if you are lonely. Women in this part of the world are threatened by that type of behavior. They deserve to be treated as equals and with respect. Understand?"

"I am regretful." Bane insisted, smiling broadly behind the mask. He liked Winslow Gordon very, very much. "I hope you will forgive me."

"You'll find that some women know how to fight back, as I did when I incapacitated you."

"But my dear - I'm afraid you did not disable me. Your knee caused me no pain at all. I allowed the gun to fly into your hands, and I allowed you to get the upper hand."

Astounded by his revelation she asked, "Why? Why on earth would you do something like that?"

Bane lifted her chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. "I simply enjoy the thrill of a chase."

Fearful of where his fingers would go next, she pulled away from him.

"All of this is irrelevant, okay? Instead, let's talk about what you did out there today. What kind of monster blows up a bridge full of cars and pedestrians? What kind of savage terrorizes a stadium full of families? What kind of a animal traps three thousand men and women underground?" Her questions were spiked by a rising fury that she knew well.

"Ah yes." He observed calmly. "Now you remind me of your father."

"You murdered Dr. Pavel, Mayor Garcia, and countless other citizens of Gotham today. You're going to be held accountable."

Bane crossed his arms and glowered at her. "Angry words coming from a woman who is soon to get to know me better."

There was no doubt about the meaning of his words, and Winslow blinked nervously.

Is it any wonder Bane wants her? They were Pollock's words.

"That's not going to happen, sir. The only way I'm going to get to know you is as a mass murderer."

"You will not deny me, Winslow."

"Then you'll just have to force me! That should prove difficult for a 'gentleman' like yourself."

Bane cocked his head in fascination, and then calmly began to undo the clasps of his mask.

"When the time comes, it will be a mutual decision based upon shared desire. You will want me as much as I want you…"

"Not before I see you tried, convicted and put away for a thousand years for what you've done. I only wish this state had the death penalty so they could hang you from what's left of the bridge!"

The mask was off now, and the face before Winslow held her utterly spellbound. It was the same face she had seen on the night of the charity ball, but in the light of day there was so much more...

Bane was a staggeringly attractive man! Between the quivering brow, the soul penetrating eyes, and the deliciously forbidden mouth, she barely noticed the faded scars that crossed his nose. He also had the most magnificent male body she had ever seen – one not sculpted by targeted workouts but forged by the gods.

"It is useless to resist me, Winslow." Bane said. "Already it is too late. I have started a fire in your womanhood that cannot be extinguished."

Unfortunately for Winslow, she couldn't help but be enthralled by his beauty, and she searched his face, her fluttering eyelashes communicating the vulnerability she suddenly felt.

Bane towered above her. His eyes now fixated on her mouth, very much intent on a kiss. He leaned in and his lips briefly grazed hers, before he moved to whisper in her ear.

"And the flame will soon become a raging fire of desire that will consume us both." His lips travelled tantalizingly along her cheek to her mouth.

"Don't!" She could no longer hide her alarm, and she jerked away from him.

But the ardent Bane was only aroused by her hesitance. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her against his vest. Darkness fell between them as his soft lips collided with hers. He dominated her, trapping her arms behind her back with his powerful hands.

She wanted to resist him, but the lure of his mouth proved far greater that she could have possibly imagined. Bane had released a hunger within her, and she found herself returning his kiss with a fervour that both thrilled and terrified her.

At the windows, Barsad shook his head and turned away from a situation that he'd seen too many times before.

Common sense eventually prevailed, and she broke away from Bane's grip. Tearing her mouth from his, she gasped for breath as she blushed all over, lips tingling. She had never before experienced a kiss quite like his.

"You stay away from me!" She warned shakily, her blue eyes flashing confusion.

Bane took one look at her lips, red and swollen, and demanded more.

He groaned, pulling her deeper and deeper into another heated kiss.

Against all her better judgment, she slid her palms up his armoured vest, eagerly kissing him back. Bane's hands explored her body, sliding from her waist to her breasts, to her buttocks and back to her waist again. She knew she had no resistance to what might happen next, because the effect of his hands was intoxicating

They were the same hands that broke the neck of Dr. Pavel.

It was that thought that snapped Winslow out of his spell. She pushed him away as forcefully as she could manage, trying to ignore the tingle in her belly and the dampness in her underwear.

Bane's eyes danced with sly triumph as he returned the mask to his face. "I assume you will no longer address me as 'sir'." The mercenary closed the complicated clasps of the mask.

Winslow was panting, her voice raw with passion and determination. "I told you I have a job to do out there. Let…me…go!"

It was an absurd demand to be sure, given the circumstances.

Bane considered her words for a moment, and then directed his words to Barsad.

"Very well. Escort Officer Gordon back to her quarters, brother, and inform our people. If any man harms a hair on her head he will answer to me, and I will be merciless."

"Are you sure you want to let her go, Bane?" Barsad complained. "Our guys went to a lot of trouble to pick her up. I thought you wanted her?"

"Do not fret, brother." Bane said thoughtfully as he observed Winslow's rush to the foyer.

"She will return to me."


	4. Chapter 4

The powerful roar of engines was the only sound heard inside the heavily armoured vehicle that once belonged to the Batman.

Neither Barsad nor Winslow spoke as he drove her home. Occasionally he glanced at her, only to see her staring bleakly out the passenger window. He supposed she was shell-shocked by the massive destruction and loss of life she'd witnessed earlier in the day, but he also recognized that something else was haunting her.

He'd seen it before in Bane's conquests. A deeply felt shame for having submitted to the mercenary.

He reckoned she got off easier than most. Some women went to bed with Bane without incident, and some fought him off until they could no longer resist.

Still others beat themselves up afterwards, and it seemed Winslow Gordon fell into that category.

However, Bane had allowed her to leave without getting what he wanted from her.

Barsad assumed her humiliation had more to do with her chosen path than anything else. She was a cop, and the fact that she had indulged in a passionate kiss with a man who had caused so much death and destruction in Gotham probably made her feel like she had let her profession down.

He parked the lumbering vehicle in front of her address and accompanied her inside the low rise building. It was only then that Winslow broke the silence between them.

"You don't have to come upstairs with me." She said bluntly.

Barsad continued after her, explaining, "The boss wants me to see you safely inside your door."

As soon as she unlocked the door to her third floor studio apartment, Barsad pushed it open and followed her inside.

Closing the door behind him, he dropped a bulky, draw-string bag on the hall table. "There's your stuff."

"Thanks. You can leave now." Winslow countered. She didn't particularly like being shut inside her apartment with this man.

"All in good time, rookie." His cold grin was as wide as it was unnerving. "There are ground rules I need to cover first."

"Oh?" She queried.

"Now... we are in a state of martial law here." Barsad explained. "You're a cop. You say you have a job to do, so I'll be watching you. I know you'll be trying to undermine our work, but if I catch you at it, I will personally make sure that you join your fellow police officers underground. Bane be damned."

"Fine. Anything else?"

"Yea, one more thing – my men are being ordered not to touch you, but I can't guarantee that any of them won't. You saw how Pollock behaved today. The best way to avoid attention is to lose the uniform."

Winslow rolled her eyes. "Of course! I'm not stupid!"

Barsad's deep-set eyes observed her for a long moment. "You got lucky today, rookie, but tomorrow is another day."

"Why did he let me go, anyway?" She demanded. Short of removing her clothing, Bane was clearly trying to get her into bed, and she was puzzled as to why he suddenly had a change of heart.

The armoured mercenary shrugged. "He said he knew you'd be back."

"Not in a million years!" She scoffed. "That monster!"

Barsad chuckled mildly. "That's what they all say, ma'am, until after they've slept with him."

"Okay... I'll bite, Barsad. Just how many women has he had, anyway? I'm genuinely interested in the number of women who would actually have sex with that brute."

"You got some real pretty gals here in Gotham." Barsad observed. "I lost count a while ago. You're not his first, and you won't be his last."

"I'm not going to be his anything, because I'm not getting anywhere near him again!"

"Yea, well, we'll just see about that, rookie. Bane has perfected the fine art of womanizing. As a casual bystander, I thought that kiss was pretty hot, so I can just imagine how Bane must feel about it."

Furious, she slapped Barsad so hard that she left a red imprint on his face, visible through his beard.

"You can tell him yourself that's how I feel. Now, get out of here!" She seethed.

"I guess Pollock and I can compare notes, now." He rubbed his stinging cheek.

"Out!"

"See you around, rookie," the mercenary said as he saluted her.

"Like hell you will," she answered stubbornly.

Barsad's grin was all-knowing as he disappeared out the door.

Slamming the door behind him, she threw the deadbolt. "Bastard!"

Her hands shook as she pulled open the bag he'd left and emptied it on the table. Everything was there. Her gun, her cell phone, and the contents of her belt.

She grabbed the phone and speed-dialled James Gordon's cell. "Pick up, Dad, please pick up!" She begged.

But James Gordon's phone went straight to voice mail, and her heart sank.

"Daddy, it's me…I'm home and I'm okay, not trapped in the tunnels. I'm worried about you! Call me as soon as you get this message!"

After an unsuccessful attempt at calling Gotham General, she decided that she had no choice but to go there herself and check on him – assuming the hospital was still there. During the drive home with Barsad, she'd witnessed many areas of destruction around the city. Bane had been very thorough.

She stripped off her uniform and dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Cooler weather had arrived after an exceptionally warm autumn, so she threw on an oversized jacket with big pockets that would conceal her gun.

The bomb-battered streets were filled with people retreating to their homes. Despite the presence of mercenaries herding them along, Winslow had an uneventful fifteen minute walk to Gotham General. She was relieved when the rambling structure came into view, looking relatively unharmed.

Inside the hospital, chaos reigned as shell-shocked doctors and nurses dealt with injured survivors of the day's events.

Winslow was devastated to find her father's room empty, and his belongings nowhere to be found. There was only one way to interpret an empty room...

Heading for the nurse's station, she passed her father's exhausted day nurse, Michelle, in the hall.

"Where is my father?" She demanded frantically.

The nurse appeared confused. "What?" She looked at Winslow as if she didn't recognize her.

"Michelle! It's me, Officer Gordon! I'm his daughter, remember me?"

The dazed nurse focussed on Winslow. "Of course - Officer Gordon! I didn't recognize you without the uniform, and it's been a terrible day!"

"I know it has... but where is my father?"

"He left with Detective Blake."

"Detective Blake? You mean Officer John Blake?"

The nurse sighed, frustrated by Winslow's barrage of questioning. "Yes, that slim young cop who's been visiting him? Your father told me he'd promoted him to Detective."

"Do you know where they went?"

"No idea." The harried nurse huffed. "Officer Gordon, I have to get back to the desk. All I know is that two gunmen burst in here intent on killing him. Luckily he got to them first, and Detective Blake rushed him out of here shortly afterwards."

Inside Miranda Tate's spacious penthouse suite, Talia lounged in her favourite cozy chair nursing a second glass of wine. Bane stood opposite her at the fireplace, enjoying the warmth. The familiar scent of leather and gunpowder filled the room.

They had spent the evening catching up, as each had been busy with the various tasks necessary for the occupation. Today Bane had taken Gotham by the throat at the stadium. Now the city was in ruins, thanks to the explosives that Daggett's crew had meticulously planted under cover.

In addition to bankrupting Bruce Wayne, Bane had broken his back, delivered him to the hell hole that he called 'home', and turned his energy project into a bomb. He had also murdered John Daggett, and issued orders for the termination of Selina Kyle.

Talia, in her role as Wayne Enterprises' CEO Miranda Tate, had successfully taken control of the Wayne board, and had also succeeded in seducing Bruce.

Tomorrow's events would be crucial to the plan.

"I was so pleased as I watched you today, Bane. You were born to be projected on a Jumbotron."

"Thank you, my dear!" Bane's pride in his accomplishments was palpable. "Today was not altogether a complete success, however. We terminated Mayor Garcia and Dr. Pavel, but lost two men in our attempt to kill James Gordon. Indeed, our men fell to his superior instincts, and according to our spies he has since disappeared from Gotham General. After tomorrow there should be so much rancour against him among Blackgate men, that they may do our job for us should they locate him first."

"I'm not worried, brother." Talia said. "We can always use his daughter to lure him out of hiding. I assume she is in your custody by now?"

The mercenary's fingers twitched at the thought of his most recent encounter with Winslow Gordon.

"Barsad brought her in today, however, I made the decision to release her."

"Are you mad, Bane?" Talia's blue eyes flashed with disappointment. "She is a useful tool! You do not have my permission to make such a decision!" The daughter of Ra's al Ghul had sensed Bane's reluctance to use Winslow Gordon as a bargaining chip from the very beginning, and she was not happy about it.

"Calm yourself, my dear." Bane assured her. "I would not have let her go unless I was confident of her return."

"Tell me that you at least took her to your bed!" She smirked. "I'm so looking forward to another one of your decadent tales of seduction. Call it my bedtime story."

Again, Bane was strangely reticent, wearing a secret smile under the mask. "I will only say that we... exchanged pleasantries. I learned today that like her father, she is vulnerable to corruption."

"So...she resisted you, brother." Talia guessed.

"Sometimes, the greater the resistance, the sweeter the prize. I believe she will continue to resist, even when she returns to me."

"Another word of warning, Bane. Don't let the demands of your penis cloud your vision. We are here to finish my father's work." Talia put her glass of wine down and rose to meet him at the fireplace.

"As for tomorrow, is your performance fully prepared? Are there enough rifles for the prisoners? Have you alerted the media that you will be speaking at Blackgate at noon?"

"I assure you that everything is in place, my dear. I carry the letter safely in my breast pocket. It is the only real weapon necessary." Bane said sagely.

Talia nodded, sighing wistfully. "I'm so sorry that this will be my last night here, brother. I've grown rather fond of this penthouse. Tomorrow I turn it over to the mob, and I take up residence at Wayne Enterprises."

Bane's eyes twinkled. "It is a reversal of fortune, is it not? It is you who will be roughing it now, whereas I have moved from the sewers to the luxury of Mayor Garcia's suite."

Placing her hand affectionately against the side of Bane's masked face, she said, "I can't imagine anyone more deserving, brother."

Daylight was fading as Detective John Blake made his way through the chaotic streets of Gotham in a vehicle he had confiscated earlier in the day. His passenger, the ailing Commissioner James Gordon, was slumped in his seat. They had just listened to the President's speech on the radio. Although the commander-in-chief was sympathetic to the day's events in Gotham, he stressed that there would be no negotiation with terrorists.

The city was on its own.

Gordon theorized that if Bane was giving the city back to the people, he should offer himself up as leader. Although Blake had his reservations, fearing that Gordon would be killed, he eventually agreed that the Commissioner should go before cameras to make such an offer.

"We'll spend the night at my place, sir, and then I think it's wise to keep moving."

Gordon nodded robotically. Something else was clearly on his mind.

"Izzy is in those tunnels!" He fretted. "I knew I should have pulled her from that operation, but she would have been angry at me for interfering. What will I tell her mother?"

"You're not going to tell her mother anything, Commissioner. Phone lines and cell service are down, and even if they weren't, you don't want to risk Bane's guys tracking you down."

"She could be dead in the rubble, or dying of suffocation! Why in hell did I ever allow her to be a cop?" He squawked irrationally.

Blake smiled. "That wasn't your decision to make, sir. Don't worry, there's plenty of air down there, and anyway, Winslow has good survival instincts. Takes after her old man, if you ask me."

Except for a flashlight standing on its end in the middle of the room, Winslow's studio apartment was shrouded in darkness. The power was out, so dinner had been a peanut butter sandwich and a banana. She hugged her knees, staring out into the night as the day's events reverberated in her mind.

The street lights were dark, but it didn't matter. Isolated fires lit up the destroyed city for the benefit of those still trying to find their way home. On her way back from the hospital, Winslow had seen makeshift signs for shelters at churches, schools, and even in private homes. It was a remarkable show of unity and generosity from the people of Gotham.

She felt extremely lucky that her own apartment building had been untouched by the explosives, and that she had food to eat.

Tomorrow she would give back. She would keep people off the streets, but she would also help them in any way possible. She would get them to the shelters. She would get them food. She would get them anything they needed, even if she had to steal.

To hell with Barsad and his threats.

She told herself that her father was in good hands with John Blake, but she hadn't been able to raise either one of them by cell phone. Service had gone down sometime after she tried to call him at the hospital. She knew he wouldn't have gone home, because Bane's assassins would be looking for him there as well. She was very worried about him, wondering how he would fare without further medical care.

Despite all that had happened, she was grateful for her busy mind. She was thoroughly ashamed of the unbridled lust Bane had cultivated within her. The man was a killer, and yet she had eagerly welcomed his kiss and his expert hands. She had betrayed herself and her profession, and that had obviously pleased him.

Who would have thought that a masked monster could have such a captivating face? Even so, as beautiful as he was in his barefaced state, the thrill she experienced every time she imagined sex with the muscled masked man was an even greater high.

"Stop it, Winslow!" She shouted angrily as she hid her face in her hands. "Have you lost your mind?"

The twinge of desire had become an ache that had only grown stronger throughout the day. She had almost convinced herself that Bane's mask had emitted a pheromone that provoked such a reaction in her. She wasn't at all the type of girl who developed an instant, sexual attraction to a man. That always came later, after she'd known him for a while.

If Winslow were to believe Barsad, then Bane the womanizer had seduced countless numbers of Gotham women. If she didn't stay away from him, she would surely become his latest conquest. Just another notch on his bedpost.

Angry now, she carried the flashlight into the bathroom and set it on the sink. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower. The water was still very hot, but it likely wouldn't continue that way.

The steamy, soothing water caressed her head, hair and body, as she relived Bane's touch. Only a few hours ago, his hands had easily penetrated the armour of her uniform, leaving the promise of so much more. But memories weren't nearly enough to relieve the longing in her groin. After her encounter with Bane, she needed release.

Desperate to purge his command over her body, she pulled the shower head off its hook, adjusting it to its most extreme setting. She braced herself against the shower wall, spread her legs and shoved the shower head between her thighs.

The hot jets surged inside her, stimulating her channel. She was more than ready for it, and writhed against the pulsating jet stream, whimpering urgently as her pleasure mounted. It was a poor substitute, given what she really wanted was the man himself inside her.

But that would not, could not, ever happen.

So here she was in the undignified position of pleasuring herself, and she prayed it would be enough. Despite her no-nonsense demeanour, Winslow had always enjoyed a colourful fantasy life. Now she imagined herself slammed against the shower wall, legs wrapped around the waist of a wet, naked Bane as he thrust into her with abandon.

Despite the heat of the shower, goosebumps rose along her skin as she approached her peak. Fantasy and reality mingled as her insides gripped the hot, hard bursts of water that stood in for Bane's punishing manhood.

She yelped when she felt herself go rigid, confident of the thrilling seizure soon to follow, when suddenly the heat faded and the water turned very cold.

The icy temperatures put the breaks on her euphoria, and returned her to a stark reality.

"No, no, no!" She cried, as her orgasm retreated like a turtle inside its shell. Tossing the shower head aside, she shut down the stone cold water and collapsed against the shower wall - unfulfilled, and utterly defeated.

"Damn you, Bane..." She whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

A new day dawned, eerily quiet in anticipation of Bane's next move.

It was the day he promised that the people would claim what was rightfully theirs. What he intended by those words was still to be determined. After watching him seize the city by the throat and commit murder on live television, Officer Winslow Gordon had no doubt that whatever he had planned would be something equally nefarious.

But who was she to pass judgment on Bane's shocking assault on the football stadium? She'd been captured, and in a bizarre twist, she became locked in a steamy embrace with him - hardly an appropriate situation for a Gotham City police officer.

Shivering, she tried to put it out of her mind again and again. It had preoccupied her all night long, and it had certainly occupied her in the shower.

Barsad's crew was the law now, and he had warned her not to cross him. She was careful to wear non-descript clothing and spent her time helping as many people as possible. She took confused seniors to shelters and reminded parents to keep their children indoors. Fearing that lost pets would be shot or mistreated, she rounded them up and identified a pet owner with a large yard who agreed to take the animals in. She then slipped inside the storefront of a looted supermarket, collecting and distributing as much food as she could find.

She was carefully negotiating the glass as she passed through the market's smashed storefront when she ran into Barsad, who was sporting his annoying grin.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," the sniper observed lazily as he examined the four heavy bags she carried. "but you appear to be looting, Officer Gordon!"

Winslow sighed, knowing that even if she could reach the gun buried deep in her coat pocket, it wouldn't do much good against Barsad's assault rifle.

"What's the big deal," she asked calmly. "Everyone else is doing it, and come to think of it, your guys started it!"

"Yea, but you're a cop," Barsad chuckled, "and a very interesting cop at that. Yesterday you beat up one of our guys. Today you're stealing stuff."

"Look, I got people settled in shelters this morning, and I rounded up some stray animals. They all need food and supplies."

"Stray animals, huh? I thought you'd be more ambitious than that, rookie. I expected to catch you leading a band of children across the Gotham bridge."

"That may still happen," she answered, irritated by his mockery.

"By all means, keep up the good work." He nodded and waved her off. "Be seeing you."

Confused, Winslow called out to him. "Hey wait! Aren't you going to take me in?"

Bane's second-in-command turned and smirked again.

"I said I'd take you in if I caught you undermining our work. Hell, beat-downs and stealing are what we do, rookie, and you're doing a hell of a job! I'll be sure and let Bane know, okay?"

Sneering, Winslow dragged the four heavy bags of food and pet supplies along the ground behind her. She spent the next two hours distributing the items, and then returned to her own neighbourhood.

Bounding up the stairs of her three-story walk-up, she pulled her gun when she noticed the exterior door of her apartment was ajar. She'd been vandalized.

Inside, a curious sight awaited her. The bathroom and closet doors had been kicked off their hinges, but everything else was untouched. They had obviously been looking for her father behind any closed door in the tiny studio apartment, and she strongly suspected that Barsad was behind the action.

Annoyed, she reached into the fridge for a container of raspberry yogurt and switched on the tv. If Bane had something planned for the day, he had yet to reveal it, because the city remained strangely quiet.

Breaking news revealed that he was expected to speak at the foot of Blackgate Prison at any moment. News correspondents scrambled to attention as a motorcade of armoured vehicles rolled up to the main entrance of the prison.

Bane slipped out of the second vehicle and hoisted himself onto the hood.

He wore the same sheepskin coat as on the previous day and boldly thrust his hands into the side pockets as he began to speak to the assembled crowd. No microphone was needed to project his voice – the mask did an excellent job of making the mercenary heard.

Winslow swallowed a spoonful of raspberry yogurt, so mesmerized by the charismatic mercenary that she couldn't concentrate on his words. His magnetism transcended the tv, and she felt herself growing very hot. It was only when Bane produced a photo of Harvey Dent that she forced herself to pay attention to his speech.

Harvey Dent, the mercenary bellowed, was no shining example of justice, but instead, a false idol put in place to stop the people from tearing down the city. Bane made the declaration as he tore up Dent's photo and retrieved a folded document from the inside pocket of his coat.

"Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent, from the words of Gotham's police commissioner, James Gordon!"

At the sound of her father's name, Winslow's spoon dropped to the floor, and her stomach lurched.

Bane began to read the document to the crowd, and it soon became apparent that it was a confession. Supposedly written by Gordon, it recalled an incident that occurred the night the Batman captured Joker. Gordon claimed that it was Harvey Dent, not the Batman, who had killed five people, and that it was also Dent who had held Gordon's family at gunpoint - falling to his death in a struggle with the Batman over the life of James Gordon, Jr.

To preserve Dent's sterling reputation in Gotham, the Batman assumed the blame for his crimes. The end result was the Dent Act, a law that incarcerated a thousand men for longer sentences without parole - all based on a lie.

Continuing to read, the mercenary ruthlessly mocked Gordon's shame and grief at having praised a man who had put a gun to the head of his child and played up to the assembled crowd like a ham actor. It was a brazen, over-the-top performance that handily won over the people.

Having dispensed with the confession, it was clear that he had only just begun. Bane was a superb orator, and it took him mere moments to identify as one of 'the people'. His affected empathy, reassurances and unwavering gaze held the crowd spellbound. He knew where and when to draw out his words, and when to add emotional flourishes, effective pauses, and softer tones. His intention was to incite a rebellion against the liars and the corrupt, and this he accomplished with thunderous words and grand gestures.

There was no doubt about it - Bane could work a crowd. By the time he finished speaking, he had stirred Gotham City into a frenzy. He had blown open the gates of Blackgate Prison, freeing the inmates. He had trashed and looted the homes of the wealthy, forcing their occupants into the streets, and he had begun to amass a civilian army.

Winslow watched in despair as GCN cameras caught all the violence and destruction, committed by many of Gotham's own citizens.

She had told Barsad that she wouldn't go anywhere near Bane again... but now it was imperative that she speak to him. She needed to know for sure if her father had been involved in a cover-up, so she had no choice but to make her way back to City Hall.

When she arrived, she charged up the main stairs and eyeballed the disinterested guards. They stepped aside and allowed her access to the elevator, knowing that Bane had ordered them not to touch her.

Winslow suspected that one of the men had called up to say she was on her way because a grinning Barsad was waiting when the elevator door opened to the 30th floor.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Bane said you'd come back. Looks like I owe the boss a C-note!"

Feeling utterly degraded at the thought of being at the centre of a bet between the two men she frowned and said, "I have a police matter to discuss with him."

In the great room of the late mayor's suite, Bane stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, fingers twitching at his sides as he surveyed his empire. Thirty floors below, Blackgate prisoners and disgruntled citizens alike scurried like ants, tearing down the city and carting away the spoils.

"Heads up, brother," Barsad announced as he ushered Winslow into the room. "Officer Gordon is in the house!"

"How good of you to join us, Winslow," the mercenary croaked softly, turning to look at her. "Come help me admire my work."

Bane was still flushed from the physical effort he had put into his speech, however, his manner was much more relaxed, and his eyes crinkled in a smile as he tossed off his shearling coat and sauntered toward her.

Although she felt sexually threatened by his approach, Winslow was determined not to recoil from his allure. To be sure, he was dangerously attractive, but she had to put aside the memory of what occurred between them the day before and get on with the job.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "The letter...the confession you read today. I want to see it because it might be a fake."

"I assure you, it is no fake," Bane enthused, pulling the folded pages from his coat and passing them to her. "Do not attempt to tear it apart or you will meet the same fate."

She took his threat seriously and gave him a guarded look before scanning the pages, hearing the voice of James Gordon as she read.

Bane gauged her reaction while she absorbed the contents, enthralled by her every gesture. He watched as her smooth brow collapsed into a trembling frown, and as her small white teeth bit into her full bottom lip. Turning the pages, she heaved a deep sigh, and the hair on Bane's arms stood up as her breath made contact with his skin. When she finished reading, she hummed in dismay and tucked a stray lock of ginger hair behind her ear.

The mercenary sucked in an involuntary breath of desire as his member hardened. He wondered again how such a glorious creature could have been sired from the loins of the dowdy James Gordon, and he thrilled to the sight of her addressing him with confused eyes.

"I don't understand," she said quietly. "It is his handwriting. Where did you get this?"

"My men found it tucked inside his coat when they searched him. You didn't know your father had a secret did you, my dear?"

But she did know. She did know he had a secret.

The way she had always heard the story, it was the Batman who killed Harvey Dent, and the Batman who tried to kill her brother, James Jr. Although she'd been away at school at the time, the incident had never felt right to her, particularly when her father had such a trusting relationship with the dark knight. Why would he take the Gordon family hostage, and put a gun to young James' head? Until that night, the Batman had never killed, nor had he ever used guns.

The traumatic incident ended her parents' marriage, and her father had repeatedly counseled the entire family, particularly James Jr., never to speak about it.

"My father isn't a bad man," Winslow replied, frowning again. "If he did this, then he must have had a good reason."

"What reason can possibly justify incarcerating criminals without parole? I ask as a man who was born in prison, also with no chance of parole."

Astounded by Bane's personal revelation, Winslow could only say, "I'm afraid I don't have an answer to that question." With reluctant eyes, she grazed his muscle-bound magnificence, and her belly percolated with forbidden feelings.

"I must know where the commissioner is, Winslow," Bane demanded firmly.

"I don't know where he is, sir. He left the hospital without checking out. As your colleague here discovered when he searched my apartment this morning, I'm not hiding him. And even if I did know where to find him, what's the point of you going after him?"

Bane's brow furrowed. He hadn't failed to notice that the tone of her voice took on a brittle edge as she spoke.

"You have his confession. By releasing the Blackgate prisoners you've issued orders for a public lynching. If they're knocking down doors everywhere, it's only a matter of time before they find him and do the job for you. Why do you have to be the one who administers the punishment? You didn't have your life upended because of his actions!"

"You sound as though you are angry with your father," Bane responded calmly.

"No, sir, I'm not. He's often had to make tough decisions, and stick by them. It's part of the job." Still, Winslow was very disturbed by what her father had done and needed answers.

"What my father may have done pales compared to what you did today! You're responsible for an unprecedented level of homelessness and mass destruction. You incited people to violence by pretending to be one of them."

Standing her ground beneath Bane's increasingly possessive gaze, she could almost see herself reflected in his dark, shiny eyes. She only hoped her own orbs didn't reveal her escalating attraction to him. Bane had a lazy charm that was intoxicating, but she was determined that today their encounter would not end in mutual kissing and groping.

But Bane had already recognized her attraction to him, and a devious smile took hold under the mask. He knew it took a great deal of effort for her to remain professional because she feared him as both an adversary and as a potential lover.

The mask wheezed, and Bane cocked his head disarmingly.

"It is difficult being a rookie police officer, is it not, Winslow Gordon?" He was rubbing his hands together as in deep thought.

"What is your point, sir?"

"I have asked you not to address me in that manner."

"Your point, please?"

"Very well. My point is that not only are you a rookie police officer, but you are also a female police officer."

"There's nothing unusual about that. There are over 350 female police officers on the force."

"I'm not saying it is unusual. I am saying that you are unusual. Your partner Officer Murtaugh is a strong, sturdy woman, whereas you are quite delicate."

Winslow blinked as Bane wrapped his large fingers around her slim wrist. She attempted to pull away from him with no success. The man had a grip as strong as his will.

"I can imagine that there are quite a few of your male colleagues who make it difficult for you. Those who believe that because you are a woman you are unsuited to the job. After all, some say that women are not as strong as men and that they are too emotional. These are liabilities for a police officer in a crime-ridden city."

He was baiting her, of course. She should have ignored him and should have changed the subject, but she couldn't stop herself.

"I don't have to lift a hundred pounds to do my job effectively and if you must know, emotion can take a police officer very far when she's trying to get a suspect to land on the right side of the fence."

Bane nodded. "That may be true, but you face other obstacles. You have a police pedigree, which means you have to work harder. You don't want to be seen as receiving special privileges because you are the police commissioner's daughter." He knew he had touched a nerve when her lips drew into a tight line.

"It's not your concern, sir." The resentment in her voice didn't escape Bane's notice, and he continued to pry.

"And then there are those among your colleagues who don't see the uniform at all. Instead, they see the same beautiful woman that I encountered the night of the charity ball, and they crave her attention. You are only too aware of this fact and have erected an invisible wall around yourself to keep interested parties out. Pity Officer John Blake, who admires you from afar while you pretend not to notice."

Stunned by his observations, Winslow again tried to struggle against him. He was right on every count. It wasn't easy being Officer Winslow Gordon.

"You also never planned on becoming a police officer. You wanted an academic career, teaching psychology and criminology, but you came to realize that you had the perfect background. Since you were trained to understand the criminal mind, you believed it would make you a superior police officer."

Her heart thumped erratically as Bane continued to probe. She understood how he might have easily obtained her education and employment records and come to some conclusions about her, but how did he have insight into her heart and mind? And how had he known about Blake?

If he was bluffing, it was an outstanding effort.

"Understanding the criminal mind is an admirable skill. Do you understand my criminal mind, Winslow?"

She stopped struggling and uttered an exasperated sigh. "I haven't had a chance to study you, sir, but offhand I've observed that you are very charismatic and that you have a way of ingratiating yourself with the people. I don't believe you genuinely see yourself as one of them, nor do I believe you care what happens to them. The people will learn they've been conned soon enough."

"So," Bane chirped merrily, releasing her wrist. "It seems I failed to win the heart of Officer Gordon at Blackgate today! In future, I shall just have to try harder."

Ignoring him, she returned her father's confession and thanked him for his cooperation.

"You are very welcome, my dear," Bane rumbled. He ran a curious forefinger along her collarbone and up her neck to her chin, enjoying the sight of the blush his actions produced. "I look forward to the day when I can thank you for your cooperation."

The daughter of James Gordon gasped as her cheeks grew hotter. "I'm a human being and a police officer. I'm not a tomato to be picked over at the supermarket, nor am I a medium-rare steak after a diet of freeze-dried rations." She glared first at Bane and then at Barsad, her blue eyes flashing. "Your friend here tells me I'm the subject of a bet between the two of you."

Barsad began to chuckle from his corner by the window, but Bane shushed him with a frown and a cantankerous wave of his hand. He had to handle Winslow with care if he was ever to win her heart.

"I'm afraid Mr. Barsad is mistaken," the mercenary responded reassuringly. "I am not a betting man."

"Aww, I was just pulling her leg, brother," Barsad said in his own defense. "Didn't think she'd take me seriously."

Winslow buttoned her coat and said, "I'll be off, now. There are people out there who need my help."

At her words Bane instantly dropped his hand on her shoulder, allowing his fingers to brush against her jaw. "Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to stay?"

The mercenary's gentle strokes were so electrifying that she jerked away from him, fearful of what might happen next. He could be trying to lull her into a position of trust before twisting her neck, or he could be trying to get her into bed. She guessed the latter because given his revelation at Blackgate, wouldn't his seduction of the police commissioner's daughter be the icing on the cake?

"You know, it didn't surprise me at all when Barsad told me that you're somewhat of a Lothario," she said, recovering her composure and massaging her sore wrist. "I'm not blind. I know what you want, and I'm afraid you've hit a brick wall as far as that's concerned."

By now Bane was seriously aroused and roughly grasped her untidy chignon, forcing her into closer eye contact. It was a brutal gesture that thrilled her more than she cared to admit. All of a sudden she was lost in the smoldering fire in his eyes.

"If you are referring to the wall you built around yourself to shun potential suitors", he mused, "I am afraid I must remind you that I began to demolish that wall yesterday."


	6. Chapter 6

Miranda Tate hurried down the hallway of the executive suite, having broken away from the trapped employees of Wayne Enterprises. With the help of Lucius Fox, she had assumed leadership of the company in order to protect the staff who remained after Bane's men took over the building. The mercenaries who were scattered all over the building deliberately allowed her to come and go. They knew her not so much as Miranda Tate, but as the Demon Head, Talia al Ghul.

She had purposely abandoned her opulent townhouse to the mob in favor of less comfortable surroundings in the Wayne Enterprises executive suite. Now she excused herself from Fox and the other employees, pleading an urgent need for a shower. At the end of the hall, she was met by a grim gunman who had cleared the area of stray employees in order to escort her unseen down a freight elevator. The elevator car stopped at the floor where the gymnasium was located, which had been declared off-limits to Wayne employees, and it was here that Talia's next meeting with Bane was to take place.

She found him standing in front of a mirror, performing bicep curls with a 30-pound dumbell in each hand.

"Good morning, my dear," he greeted her brightly as he lowered the weights to the floor and ambled toward her. "I trust you passed a good night."

Talia collapsed lazily on the nearest padded bench.

"I most certainly did not," she complained. "I should never have agreed to give up my townhouse, Bane! The conditions in the executive suite are intolerable. Men snoring in the hallways all night long, no heat, and... and do you have any idea what it's like to step into a shower that has already been used by someone?" Her exquisite features twisted into an expression of disgust.

Bane frowned, dumbfounded by her words. These weren't the words of the resilient Talia who he knew and loved. This wasn't the same woman who had sacrificed years to their plan.

"The conditions are well-known to you," Bane rumbled sternly, finally finding words. "You were raised in prison, therefore you are no stranger to hardship."

"Of course, brother, but can't you at least turn up the heat? I need to be comfortable if I'm to be on my game."

"You are the woman who has always maintained that suffering builds character," Bane bellowed. "Where is that character now, and what would your father say if he heard you? Perhaps you should try living in an underground sewer with only a rollaway bed on which to rest your head, as I have done these many months."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Bane sized up her behavior. The conversation was about her discomfort, and she had not yet mentioned his triumph at Blackgate. The praise he had expected was not forthcoming.

Talia's blue eyes flashed with amusement, and the silence ended as a long giggle escaped her throat.

"I had you," she chuckled as she rose to her feet. "I really had you for a minute didn't I, brother? You believed me. Oh, if only you could see the expression in your eyes." Grinning widely, she gave him an affectionate pat on his exposed cheek.

Bane recalled a time when Talia's pranks against him were occasionally resolved in the bedroom - until the bi-products of sex inevitably interfered. Jealousy and suspicion began to take a serious toll on their working relationship, the success of which was critical in achieving their goals against Bruce Wayne and Gotham.

When they both agreed to put an end to casual sex, their working relationship flourished. But each was only too aware that the sexual impulse remained, hovering between them as close as a whisper.

"You toy with me," Bane charged as he willed his stiffening manhood to relax. "Remember that I have no tolerance for humor beyond my own."

"I know it only too well, my protector. Did you think I had forgotten about your speech yesterday? I'm so pleased to have finally unleashed my secret weapon on the corrupt city of Gotham! Highest praises, my friend, for making Gotham and the rest of the world cower. Blackgate is your finest achievement yet."

He flushed as he basked in her long-awaited accolades, even though he felt slightly resentful. If the giant had a weakness, it was his constant need for her approval.

"There is more to admire me for, my dear," he boasted. "You will recall I predicted Officer Gordon's return. She did so in less than 24 hours, after watching me expose her father's duplicity. She wished to determine the validity of her father's confession and when she realized it was genuine, she was putty in my hands."

Ever the voyeur, Talia pounced on him. "Then you have finally taken her to your bed? Give me all the salacious details, brother."

A secret smile reflected in Bane's soulful dark eyes.

"You rush me, little one. I have no intention of forcing myself on Officer Gordon. I am no sex-starved vulgarian unable to restrain himself. I have observed that she requires careful handling and that she shall have from me. I am unlike the brutal men who surround her in the workplace. I am a gentleman."

"Bane," Talia huffed, becoming exasperated. "Tell me that you didn't release her again."

"I merely allowed her to leave," the mercenary conceded, unperturbed by her rising anger. "She will return again because she is interested in me, and I say that with all modesty. Winslow will find reasons for coming to me again and again until her interest becomes an obsession. Then she shall be mine."

"Oh, nonsense, brother!" Talia's expensive wool topcoat swung rhythmically as she paced around the gymnasium in high heels. "Why do you have a mental block when it comes to this girl? From the very beginning, I've sensed your reluctance to take advantage of the opportunity she presents. James Gordon eludes us, so here is what I want you to do. Find the girl and bring her in, then tell Barsad to spread the word that you have taken her for your woman. We'll see how long before Gordon reveals himself once the news reaches him."

It was a perfectly acceptable order issued by the Demon Head. Ordinarily, Bane wouldn't have had a problem carrying it out. But he was still smarting from the prank she'd played on him earlier, and the fact that she had withheld her praise until after she'd laughed at him.

It was a given that he worshipped Talia and usually followed her orders to the letter. But every now and then he felt the urge to assert himself as a man capable of making his own decisions. Most of the time, he had managed to rebel behind her back. Oh yes, he had rebelled before, and he would most certainly rebel again.

Still, he saw no reason not to follow Talia's orders this particular time. Not when an opportunity so clearly presented itself. He would simply take the capture of Winslow Gordon to a higher level than Talia had suggested.

With eyes smiling warmly he said. "Your wish is my command, my dear. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes, my friend. There is. I feel it's my fault that you want Winslow Gordon. I put her in that dress at the charity ball. I supervised her hair and makeup, inadvertently creating a rival. Now I fear it is you who is becoming obsessed, and as such you are a threat to the success of our mission."

Bane shook his masked head, rejecting her words. "Winslow Gordon is an amusement and nothing more," he drawled. "Our work is done here. We have only to occupy the city for the next five months until the bomb detonates. Nothing can threaten the inevitable."

"Very well," she sighed. "I give you permission to make love to her, but for the good of the mission get her out of your system. As soon as Gordon reveals himself, kill her. Let him watch helplessly as his precious daughter swings from the bridge, before suffering the same fate himself."

Winslow shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, wandering aimlessly through the rubble of Gotham.

It had been a week since Bane exposed the terrible truth that James Gordon had lied about Harvey Dent. To prove his guilt, the mercenary had shown Winslow the hand-written confession he had read at Blackgate. The lined paper document was typical of her father, and the handwriting was his.

What she didn't understand was why he had lied, and why he had allowed the Batman to take the blame for Dent's murders. If only she knew where to find him, she would have it out with him. John Blake had removed him from the hospital and she assumed that they were both in hiding. After all, if Bane had captured them, he would have flaunted it by now.

Instinct had told Winslow to stay out of sight and to specifically avoid Barsad, who seemed unusually interested in her. She hadn't returned to her apartment and had instead found refuge at the home of her partner Abby Murtaugh in Old Town. She wondered how the single mother was faring, trapped underground with the rest of the police force. Someone - likely Abby's parents - had rescued her children. There were signs of rushed packing and abandoned toys all over the tiny three bedroom house.

It was a crisp fall day and she was on one of her secret patrols, helping wherever she could while carefully avoiding areas where she was likely to run into Barsad. Squinting in the sunlight, she caught sight of a tense middle-aged woman who held a female toddler in her arms as she watched a little boy engage in a tantrum on the grounds of a ruined playground.

Fifty feet away one of Bane's gunman watched, faintly embarrassed by the assignment he'd been given, not to mention the behavior of the boy.

Winslow sprinted to the site and went into full police mode. "Martial law is in effect, ma'am, so I need you to take the children home, okay?"

"Hush, Chica!" The anxious woman cautioned Winslow in an accent that suggested her native tongue was Spanish. "We have permission to be here." She nodded furtively in the direction of Bane's guard, who was smoking a cigarette and barely paying attention.

"These children...they belong to the mercenary," she whispered hastily when the guard looked away. Then she raised her voice to the boy.

"Maksim, stop it! Mr. Bane will be angry if you stain the carpets!"

The boy was on his knees pounding his fists into puddles and screaming at the top of his lungs. The reason for his upset was clear. Virtually every playground structure in the park had been demolished and there was no place for him to play.

"These are... Bane's children?"

"They are now. El demonio kidnapped them so their father, Dr. Pavel would cooperate. When he got what he wanted he murdered the poor man in front of the television cameras. I fear the children and I are next." She hugged the toddler closely as her face crumpled and she began to weep.

"Who are you?" Winslow whispered, comforting the woman. "Tell me your name!"

"Victoria Morales," she sniffed. "The boy is Maksim Pavel, and this girl is his sister Katya. The devil hired me to care for them. We three are under his guard at City Hall, living in the suite next to his."

Winslow lifted the squirming Maksim off the ground and placed him on his feet.

"Let me go!" The angry fireplug struggled out of her arms and pushed her away, leaving two muddy handprints on her coat.

"I'm your friend, Maksim. You can call me 'Izzy'. My father gave me that name a long time ago. It's short for "Arizona".

"I don't care," he pouted.

"Maksim, be quiet! That man is watching us. You don't want him to tell Mr. Bane about your bad behavior, do you?" The Spanish woman's agitated eyes darted to the disinterested guard. "I don't understand why he doesn't stop us from talking," she fretted.

"It could be because Bane and I have an understanding," Winslow admitted. "He ordered his men to leave me alone."

Victoria pulled Katya even closer, stiffening. "You are his whore, then."

Vaguely insulted by the suggestion, Winslow blinked. "No. I'm not." She was fully aware of the hypocrisy of her claim. She hadn't slept with Bane, but she'd enjoyed kissing him and pleasuring herself with steamy fantasies of his body.

"Mr. Bane has an appetite for beauty," Victoria sneered, unperturbed by Winslow's self-righteous declaration. "You may not be his lover now, but you soon will be. I've seen it all before, Chica."

"Oh, for God's sake," Winslow groaned, rolling her eyes. "That's not going to happen! Now come with me, Victoria. Let's take you back to City Hall so I can speak to Bane about these children."

Casually dressed in a clinging black shirt and cargo pants, Bane monitored his city from the 30th-floor windows of the late Mayor Garcia's suite. The chaos he had incited the previous week had subsided, and the city was a sight for sore eyes. But he could not admire his work because his mind was too filled with recent conversations between himself and Talia.

He had met with her a number of times throughout the week, and each time she had badgered him on the subject of Winslow Gordon. The Gotham City police officer had not yet returned to him as he believed she would, and Barsad reported that she was missing from her apartment. Talia feared she had slipped through their fingers, and she was furious. Without Winslow, finding James Gordon wouldn't be easy.

While Talia and Bane's relationship had always been more of a partnership, lately their encounters had suggested otherwise. Since when had he ever needed her permission to engage in sexual relations with a woman?

He wanted to be fair to Talia; perhaps her concerns were valid. What if he were obsessed?

He had only encountered Winslow a handful of times. There should be no reason why she should always be top of mind.

And yet she was.

He was beginning to fear that Talia was right when she claimed he had squandered an opportunity. He had allowed Winslow to leave twice while in his custody because it did his male pride good to imagine her crawling back, unable to resist his charms.

There was a powerful attraction between he and Winslow; they both knew it. Besides which, the seduction of James Gordon's daughter was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

No, he was not obsessed. That was a weak man's folly.

He resolved to have Winslow in hand again and when he did, he intended to teach Talia a gentle lesson for interfering in his sex life. He had plans for Winslow that didn't include hanging her body from the bridge.

"Mr. Bane!" Noise in the hall drew the mercenary from his thoughts, as Maksim bounced into the suite without invitation. Trailing closely behind were Victoria, Katya, and the guard who had watched them at the playground. For the time being, Winslow elected to stay discreetly out of sight at the suite's entrance.

Since kidnapping them, Bane had made every effort to avoid the two children, but Maksim showed no fear of him and frequently engaged him in conversation. To the inquisitive five-year-old, the masked mercenary was merely a life-sized version of the plastic soldiers and monsters that lined his toy shelves. A friend.

"What is it now, lad," Bane demanded irritably.

The children had spent so much time in America, where their father had been a frequent lecturer at Harvard University, that Maksim spoke with an American accent. They had each inherited their father's olive skin and black eyes, a fact that made Bane increasingly uneasy. Every time he looked at them he was reminded of Pavel's last moments. A man like himself was not supposed to be haunted by his murders, but for some reason, this one stuck.

"The playground is broken! The tower is crushed and the slide is bent in half," Maksim complained.

"It's not the work of our men," Barsad said, biting into an apple he'd taken from the kitchen. "Those Blackgate bums tore it apart."

"Mr. Bane!" Victoria interrupted. "There are no other playgrounds within walking distance! Isn't it enough that the streets are patrolled by men with guns? Must you deprive these children – and all of Gotham's children – the right to play? Why should the children suffer because you endured a cruel childhood?"

Bane frowned and advanced on her angrily, disliking the implication of her words.

"Victoria, there are very few people to whom I extend my loyalty. Your husband was one of them, and as his wife you have been afforded the same privilege. However, that can change at any moment for reasons as simple as your own impertinence."

Victoria was the highly-strung widow of Javier Morales, a League of Shadows lawyer and once one of Bane's most trusted advisors. She used to fear Bane, but after her husband and only child were killed, she secretly blamed the masked man. They had been traveling on League business when their helicopter crashed. When Bane recruited her to care for the children of Dr. Pavel, she was determined to save them from him.

"¡He tenido que bloquear todos los canales de noticias para que los niños no vean cómo murió su padre," she hissed in her native language.

"And I commend you for your conscientiousness in blocking the news channels," Bane replied in English, his metallic voice rising in anger. "But remember that I have declared martial law. I am not obligated to offer Katya and Maksim a daily outing, but this I have allowed, as well as provided the protection of one of my men."

"What are the children going to do now?" She demanded weepily. "They can't stay inside all day. They need fresh air, exercise, and normalcy. They need to play."

Sensing Victoria's increasing distress, 18-month old Katya rubbed her eyes and began to whine.

"Mr. Bane, can we have a puppy?" Maxim squeezed his small frame between Victoria and Bane, demanding to be heard. "When's papa coming back? He'll let us have one."

Meanwhile, Katya squirmed uncomfortably in Victoria's arms. Fed up with lack of attention she launched into a full-bodied wail that echoed into every corner of the suite.

It had been entirely Bane's decision to take on the responsibility of the children. He felt it was necessary because Leonid Pavel's cooperation was far too important to the plan to leave his children in a hotel room with a few hired goons. Bane was a hands-on leader. He'd been the top man on the Pavel kidnapping, and that was the way he liked it, even if it meant enduring the disruption of the man's children. Still, on some days Bane cursed the sounds of their hi-pitched voices and resolved to do something about it.

"Barsad, have the playground equipment repaired, and provide a 24-hour guard," Bane ordered, making his voice heard above the din. "Take the children to your suite now, Victoria, and put them down for their naps."

Victoria hoisted Katya in her arms and took Maksim's hand. "Come, niños. Mr. Bane will fix everything."

The masked man's eyes glinted angrily as he watched the trio leave. The grating sounds of the children began to fade as they disappeared down the hall where Winslow still hovered.

"Victoria," Maksim whined over the sounds of the wailing Katya. "I don't want a nap! I want a puppy!"

Bane shut his eyes in relief as the noise disappeared behind the door of Victoria's suite. In the ensuing silence, he turned to Barsad.

"Come," he ordered, beckoning the second-in-command from his place at the windows.

The sniper followed reluctantly, dreading what was going to come next.

"Strike my previous orders, brother. It is time to dispose of the Pavel children." Irritation sounded in his voice.

Barsad swallowed hard as his heart sank.

"I can feel your disapproval from here, brother. The children's capture ensured Pavel's full cooperation. With his death, they no longer hold any use for us. We cannot leave loose ends."

"Okay... how... how do you want it done?" Barsad's gravelly voice struggled with the question. He had always done Bane's bidding, but sometimes he didn't like himself afterward. Securing women for the mercenary was one thing, but murdering children was quite another. Young Maksim hadn't any notion that his father was dead, or that he had been killed by the same man who had just sealed his and Katya's fate.

Annoyed by his second-in-command's obvious discomfort, Bane directed his attention to the hall. "Send them for judgment. Victoria too," he replied distractedly. He was suddenly aware of another presence in the suite, and he smiled broadly, recognizing the scent.

"I know you are there Winslow. Do come in," he called.

The police commissioner's daughter emerged slowly from the long hall, wearing her mud-stained jacket. Her mouth was set in a grim line.

"You depraved monster! Is there any limit to your evil?"

Bane's eyes crinkled in amusement. "I should hope there isn't," he beamed.

"You listen to me..." Winslow's professional manner abandoned her as her voice shook with emotion. "Enough of your executions, enough of your kangaroo court. I'm not going to let you get away with this. I'm going to take those children out of here right now, and not you, your bagman here or anyone else is going to stop me!"

"Did you hear her, brother? She just called me a bagman," Barsad complained. "I don't think I like that."

"I am afraid you won't be taking the children today, Winslow."

"Oh no? Try and stop me!" Confident that Bane would let her go just as he'd done before Winslow turned to leave, but Bane's superb reflexes got the best of her. In the blink of an eye, his enormous hand closed around her wrist, trapping her where she stood.

"You go nowhere, my dear." His metallic voice sounded low and threatening as he pulled her roughly against him. She could feel the heat of his body through his thin shirt, and she found herself struggling with both his strength and his irresistible allure.

The struggle was all for nothing. With little effort, he grabbed her free hand and slapped a pair of handcuffs around her wrists. It was an action that made her want him even more.

"We will revisit the fate of the children tomorrow, brother," Bane said, rescinding yet another order. "For now I want you to fetch the City Clerk. You'll find his office on the 14th floor."

"The City Clerk?" Barsad frowned. "What the hell do you want with him?" The sniper had a suspicious feeling that he already knew the answer, but Bane wouldn't go that far, would he?

Fearing the same thing as Barsad, and feeling uncharacteristically helpless, Winslow looked into Bane's eyes and whispered, "Yes, I'd like to know that too. Just what are you trying to pull?"


	7. Chapter 7

If only.

If only she hadn't volunteered for security duty at Miranda Tate's charity ball, she would never have encountered Bane afterward, and she would never have been stalked and delivered to him after initially escaping his clutches. She had jumped at the opportunity to work security at Miranda Tate's charity ball, and to be dressed by none other than the glamorous Ms. Tate herself. She put the blame on her own vanity.

If only she'd left well enough alone and stayed away from Bane. Instead, she tempted fate and confronted him first about Blackgate and then about the Pavel children, confident that he would allow her to leave. She put the blame on her ambition to make a mark in the police department apart from her father's reputation.

If only she had resisted Bane's charms, and hadn't thrown herself at him. She ought to turn in her badge now that the mercenary knew she could be tempted by him. She put the blame on the wall she'd built around herself. Sooner or later the dam had to burst, and it did so in Bane's arms.

No wonder she had ended up shackled and subjected to his voracious gaze. It was her own fault.

**********

A reluctant Barsad rode the elevator down to the 14th floor, not at all happy with the turn of events. The sniper was beginning to feel that his commander had crossed the line in pursuit of Winslow Gordon and that there was no need to humiliate her further.

Because Bane allowed only a skeleton staff to operate at City Hall, there was one person running the city clerk's office, and that was the man himself. He was balding, wore horn-rimmed glasses and a rumpled blue suit. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender when Barsad, clad in his armored vest and carrying an assault weapon, appeared in the doorway of his office.

"Let's go, sport," Barsad ordered quietly. "Bane wants you."

The silence in the 30th-floor suite was broken by the uneven sounds of the mercenary's mechanized breathing. He had not answered Winslow when she'd asked him why he had summoned the city clerk. Instead, he circled his prisoner, trailing a finger along her collarbone and lifting a lock of her hair.

It was a such a thrilling and intimate move that once again Winslow entertained the theory that the mercenary's mask projected powerful pheromones that drew her to him. She was almost thankful for the handcuffs because she was less likely to lose her head and throw herself at him. This time she had to deny him.

"Step away from me, Bane," she insisted in an effort to combat his magnetism.

"An excellent suggestion, Winslow," he conceded amiably. "We would not wish to succumb to temptation while we are alone together, would we?" He was pleased that she had addressed him by name.

Soon there came a frenzied knock on the door, and Barsad hustled the bespectacled clerk into the suite. His hands raised anew when he spotted Bane.

"Stand down and identify yourself!" Bane ordered.

"G-George Caplansky, Clerk for the City of Gotham." The man's upper lip trembled.

Bane nodded. "Good day, Mr. Caplansky, and thank you for coming on such short notice. Tell me, what are the arrangements required for a civil marriage?"

As Bane asked the question, Winslow's stomach flip-flopped, and her worst fears were realized. She had never felt so objectified than at the hands of Bane and his men. Clearly, he intended to stage a marriage with the bride wearing handcuffs.

George Caplansky's shaky words interrupted her panicked thoughts.

"Uh, well, sir, there is paperwork, the license, and a 24-hour waiting period."

"You will waive the 24-hour waiting period." Bane's gaze swept Winslow's stormy blue eyes and flushed complexion. "We are in a hurry."

"I can bend the rules, sir," Caplansky said as he noted the cuffs confining Winslow's wrists. "But, uh, the lady appears somewhat reluctant."

"She is not reluctant." Bane made his way over to the bureaucrat and hovered ominously. "Officer Winslow Gordon and I are both in agreement."

"Alright, enough games," Winslow said, turning to confront the clerk. "I won't cooperate, Mr. Caplansky. I warn you, when the city gets out of this mess, Commissioner Gordon will bring the heat down on you. He'll be interested in your misuse of public office."

The clerk looked at Winslow with an expression of alarm. "Say, aren't you Gordon's daughter?"

"Pay no mind to her threats," Bane insisted. "I will speak her words. And I will sign the paperwork for her. You will see to it that everything is legal. I am the law now, Mr. Caplansky, and you work for me."

Frowning, Winslow shook her head at Caplansky and mouthed desperate words in one final act of persuasion.

Please no.

Caplansky turned away from the young police officer and sighed, withering beneath the mercenary's threatening proximity.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you not envy me this beautiful creature, Mr. Caplansky?"

"Indeed I do, sir. I remember how it was with my own wife. I don't usually officiate, but I know the drill. It will only take a few moments, and I see no reason why I can't have you sign the paperwork at your convenience."

"I'm glad we understand one other. Mr. Barsad here will be the witness. Omit the flowery words and recite only what is lawful and necessary. I am not a sentimental man."

"I understand, Mr. Bane. Shall we retire to the hearth, where it's a little more atmospheric?"

**********

Winslow stared bleakly into the fireplace, telling herself that everything was going to be alright and that the absurd situation in which she found herself wasn't the end of the world. It was more important to remain calm. Closing her eyes, she allowed the warmth of the flames to comfort and transport her elsewhere. She was vaguely aware of voices in the distance, but couldn't make out the words.

Time passed, and she snapped out of her meditation at the sound of rattling handcuffs, opening her eyes in time to see them fall from her wrists as Bane freed her.

It was all over, and she had no clear memory of the unlawful ceremony, nor the placement of the platinum wedding band that was now fitted to her ring finger. The only thing she was certain of was that she hadn't said a word and there had been no kiss.

She would have remembered if she had kissed Bane again.

Calmly she crossed the room, pulled the ring from her finger and casually tossed it to him.

Bane caught the ring and slipped it into the pocket of his cargo pants, unconcerned by her actions. He was smiling behind his mask.

"I don't know what your motive is but the clown show you just staged is illegal," Winslow said.

"I really hate to interrupt," Caplansky complained. "But may I go now?"

"I will allow it, Mr. Caplansky," Bane agreed, "But there is one more thing I would like you to do for me. Tell the media what you know. If I do not see you on television in the next few hours, I will come for you."

Caplansky blanched at Bane's threat. "Yes, sir. Right now, sir. I mean, right away sir." He retreated from the suite accompanied by one of Bane's disinterested guards.

The masked man waited for the suite door to close until he answered Winslow.

"My motive is simple, dear Winslow. Your father is in hiding. I mean to bring him into custody with the news that you have become the bride of Gotham's reckoning."

Shaking her head, Winslow digested the information.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Bane. My father didn't get to be commissioner by not being able to spot a trap. He won't fall for it."

"Ah, but you are his precious daughter. Perhaps he will reconsider at the thought of your husband demanding his matrimonial rights." He peeled off his tight black shirt and started toward her.

"You have no rights, and the only way you're going to get me is by force."

Bane gripped her elbow and pulled her violently toward him, forcing her to look into his eyes as the mask heaved with passion. It was the second time she had suggested that he might rape her.

"Have you ever been penetrated against your will?" He demanded darkly.

The blunt question shocked her, and she was so unsure of what he intended by it that she couldn't form an answer.

Bane pulled her even closer until she felt the hammering of his heart against hers, and he spoke again.

"I have. I can assure you it is not a pleasant experience. I would not wish it upon my worst enemy, not even Bruce Wayne," he croaked as he released his grip on her.

"Leave us, brother," he ordered, without looking at his second-in-command.

With conflicted emotions, Barsad straightened and looked at Winslow with apologetic eyes. "I'll just be outside if you need me." The words were intended for her.

**********

Detective John Blake bolted up six flights of stairs and burst through the exterior door of his one-bedroom apartment. He had just returned from a clandestine meeting with his former partner, who was trapped underground along with three thousand other police officers. The two men had been communicating regularly by passing notes through a tiny sewer grate.

Blake was initially critical of Gordon after watching Bane's revelation at Blackgate but his anger had since subsided, and he was disheartened to find the commissioner watching the news. The detective stopped for some take-out at one of the few places open on his way home and had watched an unsettling news report while waiting for his order.

"You're feeling better, sir?" He asked cautiously.

"I'm alright. I just woke from a nap. What's the news from underground?" His casual response indicated that he hadn't yet heard about Winslow's fate.

"I got some good news and some bad news..."

"Lay it on me, son. Things can't get any worse."

"The good news is that they've taken a roll call in the sewers, and Winslow isn't among the trapped cops..."

"Then...that means she could be dead!" Gordon replied, his voice rising in panic.

"No sir, she's not dead, and here comes the bad news," he said, gesturing toward the flatscreen tv.

As we told you earlier, there is breaking news of a disturbing development in the occupation of our city. Gotham City News was approached an hour ago by a man identifying himself as George Caplansky, Clerk for the City of Gotham. Mr. Caplansky claims to have conducted a marriage ceremony today between Bane and a female police officer in the mayor's suite at City Hall. The woman is tentatively identified as Officer Winslow Gordon, of the Gotham City Police Department, and the daughter of Commissioner James Gordon. For more let's go to our city hall correspondent, Jasmine Jaffrey...

Gordon leaped from his seat, gaping in disbelief at the flatscreen as he watched the flustered clerk describe the wedding ceremony that he had performed under duress.

"I'm afraid of him. Bane is a scary guy. We've all seen what he can do in a split second," Caplansky explained apologetically. "I have a wife and three children, so of course I wanted to be cooperative even though I felt for Officer Gordon, who was handcuffed."

It was all too much information for Winslow's father, who maniacally pulled on his coat and rushed to the door.

Blake followed, slamming him against the hall door. "Where do you think you're going, Commissioner?"

"Where in the hell do you think I'm going? I'm going to trade myself for Izzy!"

Pinning the man even harder against the wall, Blake said, "I can't let you do that, sir. That's exactly what he wants."

"I don't care," the anguished Gordon cried. "That animal has my daughter in handcuffs. I can't bear the thought of him putting his filthy paws all over her!"

"You gotta pull yourself together, sir. I don't like it any more than you do, but there's no guarantee he's going to release Winslow if you turn yourself in. Bane will kill you both."

Feeling utterly defeated, Gordon collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands.

"My little girl," he grieved quietly.

"Sir, why don't you give her credit for being a cop? Winslow's a strong woman. You have to trust that she'll keep her head."

**********

Inside the suite's well-equipped kitchen, Winslow and Barsad were engaged in a time-honored chore. They had taken to preparing their meals together on most days and cleaning up afterward. Today it was Winslow's turn to wash, while Barsad dried.

Although the sniper would have preferred that they bring in Bane's chef and put everything in the dishwasher afterward, Winslow insisted that they do the work themselves. She needed the distraction because she had almost nothing to do all day except anticipate Bane's advances.

Although he'd been asked to leave the suite a few times, Barsad knew that Bane hadn't had his way with her yet, although it wasn't for lack of trying. Ever since Bane had forced her to marry him, the sniper saw himself as Winslow's protector.

The two had established a friendlier rapport since that day. She was chatty at first, but as the days passed she had grown quiet and thoughtful.

"So, rookie. You're planning something, right?"

"What makes you say that?" Winslow asked as she handed him a plate.

"You've been quiet, and kinda frowny-faced. I figure you're working on a plan to get out of here," he grinned as he dried the plate and added it to the stack in the cupboard.

Winslow gave Barsad high points for instinct. She was working on a plan, one that might possibly strike her arrogant captor directly in the heart of his inflated male pride, and throw him off his game. It meant that she would have to give him exactly what he wanted, which would be an impossible decision if Bane weren't so attractive, and she not so deeply curious about the prospect of sex with him.

Any conversations with Bane inevitably turned into an attempted seduction, all of which the police officer had rebuffed, but now that she had a plan it was only a matter of time before she submitted to him. She would know when the moment was right. There was no guarantee that her plan would produce the desired results, but she had to try. She only hoped that she could live with herself afterward.

"Maybe I've just run out of things to say, Barsad. The marriage thing preoccupies me, though. I mean, why? He wants me, but forcing me into marriage isn't the way to win me over."

Barsad knew the answer to that question. Bane had become increasingly frustrated by Talia's penchant for ordering him around and making decisions for him. He had made it clear that Winslow was his to do with whatever he wanted, but when Talia demanded that he use her as a tool to bring her father to justice, it was the last straw. The masked mercenary felt emasculated.

Bane's lieutenant knew that he wanted to teach Talia a lesson for undermining his authority. She'd likely heard the news of his marriage, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was going to be pissed.

"Maybe he did it because he was afraid someone else might scoop you up first. I understand him in that respect." Barsad's deep-set eyes were sincere, and Winslow began to feel slightly uneasy beneath his scrutiny. Had he just made a pass at her?

"Yes, but a man doesn't have to marry a woman in order to scoop her up."

"That's true, rookie," he chuckled. "One thing's for sure though, you married the wrong guy!"

Winslow's blue eyes implored him not to say anything more, but Barsad continued on.

"See, a guy like Bane is never gonna be home for dinner. You can wait for him 'til the cows come home, and he won't show. Now take me. I'm the kinda guy who'll always be there. I might be late sometimes but I'll always come home. Here's the sore point - women don't want the reliable guy. They want the bad boy with biceps and a big dick."

"I'll disregard the inherent sexism of your assumptions," Winslow said, rolling her eyes. "I have all the male attention I can handle right now, by the way.

"Okay, okay," he chuckled again. "I had to take my shot. You could be nicer to me since I stole clean clothes for you after your place was ransacked the other day."

"And I appreciate that," she said simply. "I didn't see the kids today. Are they alright?"

"Yea, they're okay I guess. Bane has decided to keep them around in case he can get more leverage out of them. Katya is fine, but Maksim is beginning to feed off Victoria's anxiety and demanding to see his dad. He knows something's up."

Barsad closed the kitchen cupboard and addressed Winslow with a hard expression.

"You're not to tell Bane about any of this conversation."

"Of course not."

**********

"What in the hell is going on with you, Bane?"

A furious Talia used a rare cuss word as she and Bane faced one another in the off-limits executive gym at Wayne Enterprises.

"I ordered you to bring Winslow Gordon in, not to marry her," she hissed. "I have long suspected that you favour her, and what's more I believe you planned this all along!"

Her response to the news was exactly what he hoped for. Bane loved the sight of a discombobulated Talia.

"Correction, my dear. You ordered me to bring James Gordon in by using Winslow as bait."

"You didn't have to marry her," she raged. "It's exactly as I feared, my friend. You are obsessed with her!"

Bane smiled. "It was an impulsive act on my part, I admit. Afterward, I hoped that my actions would give Gordon extra incentive to turn himself in."

"Well then, where is he? It's been five days since your marriage, and still, we don't have Gordon! But you got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"Talia, I did it to make a point on the subject of my independence. Winslow Gordon is for my personal pleasure. I had no intentions of using her as bait, but you forced my hand. In future, I ask that you respect my decisions, especially with regard to what is mine. I do not kneel at your feet, little one. I stand shoulder to shoulder with you."

Not to be outdone, Talia took his hands and went to work. "Of course you're right, brother," she said after a pause. "I should have considered your personal pride. And it matters little that you married her because soon you are going to throw her out on the street as you have done with all your other women, aren't you? I hope you can forgive me for overreacting."

One hand found his vest and slid to his crotch. "Bane," she whispered into the mask as she groped him, "You remember how it once was between us. It can be that way again."

The mercenary wasn't the least surprised by her actions, and a sly smile tugged at his mouth. "Talia, my dear!" He exclaimed, removing her hand and pretending to be shocked. "Remember the importance of our working relationship."

More silence followed and then she began to giggle so much that Bane wondered if she'd been sampling the bar at Wayne Enterprises.

"Oh Bane, was she really handcuffed when you spoke your vows?" She was grinning from ear to ear. "You are incorrigible!"

"She was indeed," he boasted.

"And did you handcuff her to the bed afterward?"

"Talia," he admonished. "You are too eager for completion. The male penis is a powerful weapon, and must be administered wisely."

"Meaning of course, that you still have not slept with her!" This latest revelation shook Talia as much as the news of his marriage. Why was he treating the Gordon girl differently than his other women? Why had he really married her?

"Do not be concerned, my dear," he assured her. "She will be conquered."

"And then you will throw her away, agreed? You have lingered too long with her, my friend. I need you to focus your attention on finding Gordon and disposing of the Pavel children."

"All in good time." His vague answer troubled the daughter of Ra's al Ghul. Bane soon departed the gym, but Talia remained behind, a deep frown forming in her exquisite brow.


	8. Chapter 8

The stars over Gotham twinkled brightly against an inky black sky. Three more days had passed, and Winslow was beginning her second week as a prisoner of Bane.

During her time in captivity, she had decided on a very simple plan, and that was to give Bane what he wanted.

Gotham was under siege, threatened by a nuclear bomb. She was a police officer who had been captured by the man responsible for all the mayhem, so surely there was something she could do now that she was close to him? Surely there was some way to disrupt his power.

It shamed her to think that sex was her only weapon, but Bane's obvious desire for her was the only leverage she had.

Tonight she would let him have his way, but she wouldn't make it easy for him. She wasn't going to just throw herself at him.

She waited for him in the master bedroom, where she had been sleeping since he had taken her hostage. She was standing in the wide expanse between the bed and the windowed wall, enthralled by the night sky. She had grown to love the room, having locked herself in it almost every night. The door remained open as an invitation for him to walk right in.

The room had the clean lines of the mid-century modern style and a wall of windows facing west. The enormous bed, a Heywood-Wakefield platform, was itself dwarfed by a rectangular wooden wall hanging suspended directly behind the headboard. Two staggered starburst pendant lamps hovered over the Russel Wright side tables on either side of the bed. Winslow had thoroughly enjoyed snooping around, looking for labels and maker's marks on the various pieces of furniture and decor. The late mayor had been a man of taste and restraint, and quite a collector.

There was another bedroom farther down the hall where she suspected Bane slept, but up until this night she had steadfastly resisted exploring it in case she should unexpectedly encounter him.

Making the decision to sleep with him wasn't difficult. It would be an entirely different situation if she found him repulsive. But mask or no mask he was a captivating man, and there was no resisting him any longer. Day after day his allure loomed larger within the confines of the suite, and there were few places to hide beyond the master bedroom. It was a good time to put her plan into action.

Bane's usual routine began with a gentle touch in just the right place, followed by the unbridled attention of his gaze and a few softly spoken words. Until now she'd stoically fought him off by turning her back on him and asking him to leave.

He always obliged cheerfully, but tonight he would not be rejected.

Flanked by two men, Bane rode the elevator to the 30th floor after spending the day in negotiations with federal government officials. He had agreed to increases in the flow of food, water, and medical supplies, as well as to relax some of the restraints of martial law. These agreements offered exactly what Bane intended for the citizens of Gotham - hope. In the end, it wouldn't matter that their children had been fed or that they were able to walk the streets without fear. As the day of detonation arrived, the citizens of Gotham would all know true despair.

Stepping off the elevator, he recognized the small child lurking in the corridor. Katya Pavel babbled excitedly as she teetered down the hallway alone, dressed in pink polka dot pajamas and white socks. Frowning, he noted the frozen expressions of the guards, all of whom looked far more terrified of the child than of him.

Irritated by the guards' awkwardness, he bent over and slid his massive hand around Katya's abdomen, securing her under his arm. The toddler squealed with delight when she suddenly found herself at a great height.

He found Victoria Morales seated inside her room, cradling the sobbing Maksim in her arms.

"Why is your door open, and why is this child roaming the hallways unattended?" The mask wheezed ominously over the din of Maksim's wails as Bane set Katya down next to Victoria on the sprawling sectional sofa.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bane, but Maksim is upset and demanding to see his father," she fretted. "I caught him trying to take the elevator to find him, dressed only in his pajamas."

"Where's Papa," the agitated boy blubbered into her chest. "I want my Paaapaa!"

"He has an important job, niño." Victoria's voice trembled with heartbreak. "You can be sure that wherever he is, he is thinking about how much he loves you and Katya." She hated lying to the boy, knowing that Bane had murdered his father.

The mercenary watched in silence, wondering if it might be better for Maksim to learn the truth. He himself had endured much heartbreak by the time he was Maksim's age, and it had hardened him into the man he was now. Perhaps the truth was just what he needed.

He resolved to tell the child, but not just yet. Instead, he glowered, beckoning Maksim with his forefinger.

"Come here, brother," he rumbled sternly.

Maksim squirmed out of Victoria's protective grip and went directly to Bane, staring up at the masked mercenary with wary, tear-stained eyes.

"As your commanding officer, I must remind you of your duty to Katya and Victoria. They depend upon you, lad. It is your responsibility to safeguard them in your father's absence. What happens when we go outside without our boots, dressed only in our pajamas? We step on broken glass, we catch our death of cold, and then we must be cared for by those we were supposed to protect. Is this not so, brother?"

Maksim lowered his head in shame, devastated by Bane's apparent disappointment in him.

"Now then, the sooner you allow Victoria to put you to bed, the sooner you shall wear the uniform of my men."

The beaming child looked to his governess for guidance.

Victoria nodded. Stunned by Bane's kindness, she pulled the fidgety Katya on to her lap. "Mr. Bane promised you a uniform, Maksim! What do we say to him?"

"Thank you, Mr. Bane," he responded shyly.

Inside the mayor's suite, Bane issued an order to the tall, silent guard who had been watching Winslow in Barsad's absence.

"Mr. Keogh, you are to find and deliver clothing exactly like your own to the children in Mrs. Morales' room. As for size, the boy is five and the girl is 15 months."

"Yes, sir," Keogh gulped. He was honored that Bane knew him by name, but wondered where he was going to find children's clothing when so many stores and homes had long been looted.

"You will not speak of your mission to anyone," Bane frowned. "Is that perfectly clear, Mr. Keogh?" The last thing the mercenary wanted was an army of men gossiping about his attentiveness to the Pavel children.

"It's perfectly clear, sir," Keogh nodded, fully understanding the threat behind Bane's twitching fingers.

"Very well, then. Get on with it."

Keogh bounded out, determined to complete the task that Bane had given him.

Inside the suite, Bane couldn't hear Winslow moving about but he sensed her presence.

The dinner hour had long passed, and he found her standing with her back to him in the master bedroom, arms crossed as she watched the night sky. There was something about the way her bare feet squirmed in the shag carpeting that made his groin twitch, and he went straight to work on her.

"Did you know that mystery surrounds the number of stars in our universe, Winslow? There are over 200 billion galaxies, but in truth, research suggests that there may be ten times more."

It wasn't uncommon for Bane to preface an attempted seduction with observations of the stars, the moon or the sunset. Such topics easily segued into a more intimate discussion. On that score, Winslow felt she knew him like a book, and she sighed resignedly.

"They are beautiful, are they not, my dear?"

She heard him drop his coat and vest on a nearby chair, and she wondered if he expected to stay. If so, they were of the same mindset.

"And they look upon us favorably."

"They're unusually bright, given the amount of pollution your explosions spewed into the atmosphere," Winslow agreed.

A frustrated snort sounded from Bane's mask. It seemed as though he had been trying to win her for an entire year, yet only a few scant weeks had passed since he had first encountered her. Her appearance was a far cry from the way she had looked on the night of the Charity Ball, when she had worn a spectacular transparent blue gown decorated with delicate appliqué and beadwork, and her ginger hair had hung in precise waves over her shoulders.

Tonight she wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt, with her hair falling poker straight down her back. Bane observed that the orange and green tones of the shirt favored her coloring, and guessed that Barsad had chosen it for that very reason.

"I strongly suspect my second-in-command fancies you, Winslow. I'm afraid I shall have speak to him."

"That's not necessary, Bane," she insisted irritably. "I already told him I'm not interested."

"I should hope you did," the mercenary grunted, making a mental note to grill Barsad anyway.

"Let me be clear. He wasn't nearly as obvious as you are. He told me that he's the type that comes home for dinner every night but that women don't want that kind of man. He was merely acknowledging defeat before ever getting started."

"A very shrewd move on his part, considering your marital status."

"We are not married, Bane. What you did was illegal, and after Gotham defeats you I'm going to court to have the paperwork declared invalid. If I have to get an annulment, I will."

Amused by her claims, Bane wisely changed the subject.

"I take it you are on edge tonight, Officer Gordon. I have been standing here for five minutes and still, you have your back to me."

She knew by the sound level of his voice that he stood several paces behind her, but she could still feel his body heat closing in on her. It was an intoxicating sensation.

"If I am, it's because I'm not used to being in captivity. I'm an active woman. I need to be out doing my job, not staring into space all day.

"I understand, my dear, but Gotham has no need for police officers, which is why they are all underground. I have other plans for you, Winslow."

"That wedding stunt is a pretty tough act to follow. I can't imagine what you have planned for an encore."

Beneath the mask, Bane's lips curled into a smirk. "Can't you?"

The suggestiveness in his voice thrilled her, but she wouldn't take the bait - not yet.

"Where is Barsad, anyway? He never showed up for dinner tonight."

"We lost four men in civilian uprisings today. I sent him to shut them down. No, I don't expect we shall see him again until morning." Bane's quiet confidence was only too apparent, and Winslow felt as though he was about to pounce on her.

"Since I have also sent Mr. Keogh on an errand, I'm afraid it is just we two tonight."

"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you? Here we are alone together in my room, and you think you have me right where you want me."

"I have only your best interests at heart, Winslow. I can offer you something more exhilarating than a starlit sky."

A hot blush stained Winslow's pale complexion. Prior to meeting Bane, she hadn't blushed since high school. Now it happened at least twice a day. His presence was so overwhelming that even with her back turned she could feel his eyes drilling into her.

"Look at me, Winslow," he commanded. "I grow tired of talking to your back."

Despite her burning cheeks, she turned to confront him and found him exactly as expected: shirtless, with busy fingers and a predatory gleam in his eye.

Her body craved his touch, but her words denied him. She didn't want him thinking she was easy.

"Why can't you just take 'no' for an answer, Bane?"

The mercenary paused, then withdrew the wedding ring she'd returned to him from his pocket, and gently slid it on to her ring finger.

"Why can't you say 'yes' to the consummation of this marriage?" He countered.

He was a sly one. His timing was superb and he had orchestrated this particular moment as skilfully as he had conquered Gotham. She was enjoying this seduction far more than she had ever anticipated. Suddenly she was flustered, her knees were weak, and she wanted more.

"Because... Barsad has lots of stories about you that all end the same way. I'm just another fuck to you, and you'll toss me on the trash heap afterward like all the others."

Encouraged by the fact that she spoke hypothetically for the first time since being held hostage, Bane sensed light at the end of the tunnel. He moved closer to her, speaking gently.

"Barsad talks too much. If it is a commitment you want, I must remind you that I did not marry the others." He gently massaged her hand with his rough fingers, an action that stirred Winslow's lower belly.

"I will not toss you out into the street, because you are a Gotham City police officer and as such you are my prisoner."

Winslow attempted to lower her gaze but Bane lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"Do not look away from me, Winslow. Haven't you ever wanted to be bad?"

It was the perfect invitation. The right moment to give in to him now that her mind and body were primed. Yet, she had to maintain the big picture. Submitting to him was not all about physical attraction. If he liked her as much as she suspected, it was about the possibility of defeating him.

They stared at one another in meaningful silence, until she spoke.

"Of... of course I do," she conceded. "I want to be bad sometimes. You were so right, Bane. It's hard being the police commissioner's daughter. I can't have a rowdy night out with friends or I might end up in the tabloids the next day."

Encouraged by her softer manner and deference to him, Bane moved in for the kill, grasping the tails of her flannel shirt and methodically undoing the buttons.

"Have no fear of scandal." His mechanized voice was low and provocative. "We are alone here, and if you choose to be bad no one need ever know."

"I already have a reputation thanks to you," she murmured. "Depending on what news channel you watch, I'm either 'Wicked Winslow' or 'The Bride of Frankenstein'. God knows what my father is thinking..."

Bane's rough fingers combed her ginger hair as he spoke into her ear.

"You are trapped by your father's reputation," he whispered, bringing her hand up to lay against his beating heart. "I can liberate you from him. We both know we were meant to be, Winslow. Nature intended it, for you are the rare bloom and I am the master gardener."

He knew he had reached her in a way she hadn't expected when she pulled away from him and blinked, offering up something she had never before revealed to him - a smile.

Confident of victory over the calm, professional Officer Winslow Gordon, he swept the shirt off her shoulders and reached behind her to the switch on the wall.

As the lights lowered, the mercenary unbuckled the cumbersome brace that supported his back and let it fall with a thud to the shag carpeting at his feet.

The court was already in session when Bane arrived to observe the proceedings the next morning. The usual sounds of cheering and begging echoed throughout the cavernous courtroom, as did the irritating pronouncements of Judge Jonathan Crane.

Bane had plucked the former arch-villain from Arkham Asylum to preside over his kangaroo court simply because Crane was the perfect man for the job. He had once been Ra's al Ghul's man in Gotham.

The mercenary loathed the prissy Crane and looked forward to the day when he would put an end to his ex-communicator's stooge. When the time was right, he would climb up the mountain of stacked furniture and crush the idiot's skull with his own gavel.

His jittery fingers instinctively retrieved the unfinished tatting project in his pocket and began to work it, but the complicated knotting and looping didn't come easily to his pre-occupied mind.

Instead, he was lost in rosy visions of a future with Winslow Gordon.

Normally he would have tossed a conquered woman out on the street after having his way with her, but he had no intention of allowing Winslow to get away.

Earlier that morning as he dressed in the dark and watched Winslow's naked form rising and falling as she slept beneath the tangled sheets, he had an epiphany.

He hadn't married her to spite Talia. He'd done it for his own benefit.

The bond of marriage was an old-fashioned concept in the modern world, but the symbolism was important to him, no different than swearing an oath to the League of Shadows. And although his personal views might be antiquated, he wasn't ashamed to admit to himself that he liked the idea of "owning" Winslow.

Since leaving the prison pit he called home for most of his youth, everything he did was in service to Ra's al Ghul, and then to Talia, after Ra's was killed in a failed attempt to destroy Gotham City.

Talia had made vengeance for Ra's' death her life's mission, but what did life have in store for them after Gotham? Surely they wouldn't be satisfied with destroying decadent civilizations without the added bonus of settling an old score, as had been the case in Gotham.

There could be nothing on the horizon greater than triumph in Gotham. When victory was complete, maybe it was time for he and Talia to step down.

Winslow was his chance to live as an ordinary man, as a husband and perhaps a father too - living in a red frame row house like the ones he'd seen in Old Town. Somehow, he would find a doctor to heal his pain, freeing him from the mask. He'd never dared to hope for a simple life before, but with Winslow, all things seemed possible now.

Last night she had given herself to him freely again and again. She had comforted him when he revealed the truth behind his mask, and of his origins in prison. She'd whispered encouraging words that made him believe.

What had he done to deserve such kindness? He had manhandled her, handcuffed her, and subjected her to the humiliation of a forced marriage. He had behaved like a beast towards the very woman who could be the key to his future. He had always considered himself a gentleman, but now it dawned on him that he was no such thing.

He pushed himself off the far wall of the courtroom and headed back to the suite, determined to speak to her..

An uncharacteristically giddy Winslow bounced beneath the pulsating jets of the shower head in the master bathroom.

She had awakened to find the bedroom in disarray. Her torn clothing lay discarded on the floor, a chair was overturned, and the silk sheets were pulled away from the mattress. The perfectly placed geometric wall hanging was suspended at a crooked angle behind the headboard.

Collapsing against the shower wall, she clasped her hands over her mouth, stifling yet another euphoric 'Oh-my-god'.

"If this is a dream, don't wake me," she said to the shower head.

Bane could very easily have been the thoughtless lover type, greedily slamming away without benefit of foreplay or communication, delivering the kind of unsatisfying sex that was over in about five minutes.

But as Winslow's luck would have it, he wasn't. Sex with Bane was glorious.

As she dressed for the day, she paused over the details of their tryst over and over in her mind. On the floor, on the chair, and finally, on the bed. All night long.

She was sore as hell and she was bruised, but she felt completely exhilarated.

Bane had liberated her, just as he had promised.

With her spirits soaring, she made her way to the kitchen, stopping on the way to glance at her reflection in the mirror.

Closing her eyes she placed her hand on her chest, still overcome by the experience.

"Bane..." she sighed.

Reality hit when she opened her eyes again, confronted by the accusing visage of Officer Winslow Gordon.

Of course. She had a plan to toss Bane from his high horse, and she was supposed to put that plan into effect this morning.

"What about Bane, rookie? Anything to do with that certain smile I just saw on your face? If you know what I mean."

She was so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed Barsad, who had returned from his overnight mission and was at his usual post by the windows, foot resting on a nearby chair as he sipped his coffee.

"No, I don't know what you mean, Barsad." She wasn't going to reveal what happened overnight, not even if he pressed her. She had a greater calling, so it was time to forget the hot sex with Bane and do her job.

"I hear he sent you to stop some civilian uprisings last night. Never underestimate the power of concerned citizens. Gotham is fighting back, it seems."

"Yea, well, not for long." Barsad mused. "They were organized, you know. Three different armed groups about to merge. They were led by a banker, a quarterback, and a 17-year old high-school student who might have been you ten years ago, rookie. I took the first two out, and their gangs scattered. I'll be keeping an eye on the high school student. She does her sabotage at night, little realizing that night is when I do my best shooting."

"You're going to murder a high school student?" Winslow gaped at him, appalled by his matter-of-fact demeanor.

"Yep, and as soon as Bane gets back I'm going to brief him and then hit the sack," he yawned.

As if on cue, the door opened and Bane emerged from the hallway, fierce eyes trained on Winslow.

"Leave us, brother!"

"Bane, I think we should-"

"Out!"

"Okay, brother," Barsad agreed, "but afterward I need to have a serious discussion with you, and not just about civilian uprisings!"

Silence filled the room after Barsad's departure, as Bane approached Winslow and brushed his fingers against her cheek.

"I hope I did not...hurt you last night?"

"I have bruises, but otherwise, I'm well." Her heart pounded erratically, and she wanted nothing more than for him to pull her into the bedroom, but that couldn't happen again.

"I have not always behaved respectfully towards you, as you have done with me," he observed in a moment of candor. "I have been rough with you, and perhaps I ...erred in handcuffing you and forcing you into a marriage ceremony."

Winslow blinked and sighed. "Bane -"

"I have no regrets about last night. It is only the beginning."

"Bane, please -"

"Let me speak," he cautioned her. "If it is my destiny to be tamed by the daughter of James Gordon, then I welcome it. I give you my word... there are no others, nor will there ever be again. I have met my Waterloo, Winslow... and she is you."

Stunned, she struggled to compose herself. They were sweet words, made more so by the fact that she suspected he had rehearsed them.

Why did he have to be so nice? Now more than ever her words could topple him, but if that happened it could only be a good thing.

Despite her mixed feelings she took action, unleashing a volley of cold words.

"Aren't you being a little dramatic, if not presumptuous, Bane?"

The mercenary's eyes narrowed as Winslow continued.

"It was just sex, nothing more," she shrugged. "From now on I want you to stay far away and don't ever come near me again. We are not going to get involved. Last night was last night. That's all there was, and all there is. There isn't going to be anything more between us."

She had originally planned to lock herself in her room, but instinct told Winslow to run. Fetching her jacket from her room, she called out to the mercenary one last time.

"Goodbye, and good luck!"

Shock and disbelief reflected in Bane's eyes, but there was no time for Winslow to feel guilty.

She turned her back on him and let herself out of the suite. No guard tried to stop her as she accessed the elevator to the ground floor. She took another chance, exiting via the main entrance of the building and down the grand staircase.

Still, no one stopped her.

She walked a block along Grand Avenue before disappearing into an alley. Because her own apartment had been ransacked and the door pulled off its hinges, she was intent on returning to safety at the home of her imprisoned police partner, Abby Murtaugh.

Several times she stopped to look behind her back. None of Bane's men had followed her.

She was free.


	9. Chapter 9

A steady snowfall blanketed the streets with white, silent perfection. Because the snow muted the sound of automobiles and military boots, the besieged city seemed even more at a standstill.

Normally Winslow loved the first snowfall of the season, but now she felt threatened by it. At any moment one of Bane's men could catch her unawares in the stillness, approaching from behind. She was tempted to keep checking her back, but she didn't want to raise the attention of anyone who might see her behaviour as suspicious.

She also feared leaving tracks in the snow. However, Bane didn't have enough men to patrol every nook and cranny, so she did her best to travel back alleys where the proliferation of fire escapes and trees would control the amount of snow on the ground.

Although Bane had eased some of the restrictions of martial law, most citizens stayed close to home, fearing that they would be slapped with some perceived crime and rounded up for judgment at Crane's Court.

Winslow had almost reached the safety of Abby's house when her worst nightmare occurred. A firm hand gripped her shoulder, and she turned, ready to fight.

But it wasn't one of Bane's men. It was James Gordon, who silenced her with a finger to his lips. A relieved-looking Detective John Blake stood behind him.

"Dad," She whispered as she flew into her father's arms.

"Izzy! I've been out of my mind with worry!" Gordon sobbed, hugging her tightly. "If only I could get through to your mother and tell her you're with me."

"I'm fine!" She insisted softly. "I don't know how, but I managed to escape this morning. I... I just walked out, and no one tried to stop me, not even him."

"That monster! We saw it on the news. Did he hurt you? Did he - "

"Don't fuss, Dad," Winslow scolded, aware of Blake's scrutiny. "I've been worried about you, too. Are you well enough to be out of the hospital?"

"I had to get him out, Winslow," Blake explained. "Bane's mercenaries tried to gun him down in his hospital bed, but he got to them first. More killers would have followed."

"Don't you worry about me, Izzy. Blake's looking after me fine, and I've got all the meds I need," Gordon waved dismissively. "We've had to keep moving, but we've managed to locate about a dozen other officers, and are meeting them in secret, of course. Now, is it true? Did he force you to marry him? Did he...touch you?"

"It meant nothing, Dad," Winslow replied evasively. "He was just trying to humiliate me and to bring you out of hiding. It was completely illegal and all for his own ego gratification."

"I was all set to trade myself for you, but Blake stopped me."

"I'm glad he did," Winslow said, nodding at Blake. "Gotham needs you."

Blake silently watched the father/daughter reunion and frowned, unable to resist a blunt observation.

"I see you're wearing a ring. Bane must have been pretty serious about the marriage."

"Oh," Winslow murmured as she looked at her left hand. There it was - the platinum band that Bane had placed on her finger the night before. In her haste to escape City Hall, she had forgotten to remove it. Still, she was furious with Blake for making such an observation while her father looked on.

"Knock it off, Blake," she said resentfully as she shoved the ring into her pocket.

#######

The short journey to the home of Abby Murtaugh was made in silence, although the air was thick with unanswered questions. Both Blake and Gordon were disturbed by Winslow's evasiveness about what had transpired during her time with Bane.

Murtaugh's house was an older home whose main feature was its large farmhouse kitchen, with hardwood floors and open shelving. Blake stepped out to get some food, while Gordon explored the house, looking for a room to take a nap.

"This is just like your grandmother's house. Do you remember it, Izzy?"

"I remember, Dad," she smiled.

"Listen, now that Blake's gone, it's a chance for you and me to talk. Izzy, you can tell me. If that maniac put his hands on you, I'll kill him with my bare hands. You just say the word."

"Dad..." Winslow exclaimed, becoming increasingly panicked by his questions. "There's absolutely nothing to talk about. I got away from him this morning, I found you, and that's all that's important. Don't worry, I'm not traumatized. I was treated well, except for the handcuffs, and that was only for a few moments."

Gordon peered at his daughter curiously. "Alright, I'll stop prying," he conceded. "For now, I'm going upstairs to get a few hours' sleep. But sooner or later we are going to have a talk about Bane."

"And sooner or later, we are going to have a talk about Harvey Dent," she countered.

Gordon nodded grimly, as he ascended the staircase. "Fair enough, Izzy."

#######

Winslow made herself a cup of tea and stretched out on the couch, staring out the window wistfully. When she closed her eyes, she relived the thrill of damp skin, tangled limbs and the hot sensation of Bane surging inside her.

In his softest voice he had told her about his injury, and the necessity of the mask. He also expressed the belief that one day soon there would be no more need for it, and when that day came, he would become the lover he'd always aspired to be.

Winslow responded by laying her head against his sweaty chest, reaching over his massive body to stroke the twisting scar that ran the length of his spine.

She was unexpectedly moved by his words and although she understood, she brought her exploring fingers down to his groin, smiled wickedly and asked him what was wrong with the lover he was now.

She wondered how he reacted after she left him this morning. Had she hurt and demoralized him, rendering him incapable as she had hoped, or would he use her rejection as an opportunity for inflicting more brutality against the citizens of Gotham?

Thanks to Bane's release of goods earlier in the day, Blake returned with a box full of fruits and vegetables, a chicken, a loaf of bread and some canned goods.

"We'll save the Spam for a special occasion, agreed?" Blake smirked as he and Winslow began to prepare dinner.

"Whatever," she shrugged.

"You're pissed at me," he observed.

"Of course I'm pissed at you," she sneered as she retrieved a salad bowl from the shelf. "Did you really have to point out in front of my father that I was wearing a ring?"

"I'm a cop, Winslow. I ask blunt questions. Anyway, your dad's not stupid. He probably saw the ring before I did."

"Well, thanks a lot anyway. He's out of his mind wondering what went on between Bane and me.

Blake frowned, suddenly serious. "Fine. What did go on between you? And how did you come to be with him in the first place?"

"I was grabbed and taken to him while I was on my way to the tunnels," she said as she sliced a tomato. "He admitted that he had stalked me since the night of the charity ball. We talked about the explosions, and then he let me go. That was going to be the end of it, but after he exposed my father at Blackgate I needed to know the truth, so I met with him again, and again he allowed me to leave. I saw him a third time after I learned he was holding Dr. Pavel's children."

"Pavel had kids?"

She nodded. "Two little ones. I told Bane that I was leaving and taking them with me, and that's when he handcuffed me and summoned the city clerk."

"Jesus," Blake grimaced. "What made him let you go today?"

"It's a long story. Let's keep our voices down, so my father doesn't hear, okay?"

A look of disappointment crossed Blake's face. He wasn't sure he wanted to know more.

"Go on."

"From the very beginning, Bane made it clear he wanted to seduce me. In the weeks I was with him, there was rarely a day that he didn't try to get me into bed, and he was...very persistent. But, I knew exactly what I was doing. I had the idea that I should give him what he wanted, and then in the morning, blow him off. Understand that he has that huge ego, Blake, so I thought that if I could shake his confidence it might affect his ability to lead, and distract his army."

A hot streak of jealousy tore through Blake. "That's a big gamble, Winslow. Tell me you didn't..."

"I did," she whispered. "I slept with him last night. This morning he started to tell me something. Sweet words that no man has ever said to me before, but I didn't let him finish. I told him that last night was the end of it, that there would be nothing more between us, and that he was to stay away from me."

"How did he take it?"

"He didn't say anything. He just stared at me. I grabbed my coat, said goodbye and then I was gone. I was pretty cold, and I could tell he was impacted. So, maybe everything else will fall into place and Gotham will have a chance, especially with civilian unrest on the rise.

"Bet he's lousy in the sack. I always figure a guy like that can't get it up, so he takes it out on the rest of the world."

Winslow glanced furtively at Blake. "Not him. He has the erection of a 17-year old and incredible stamina."

Wincing with disgust, Blake cautioned her. "Shhh! Do you want your dad to hear?"

#######

The besieged mercenary sat bent over the fireplace hearth, deep in thought. Over the course of the last four days, he had asked himself the same question over and over again.

Why had Winslow rejected him? Their night together had been exquisite. She was so gentle, so understanding, so genuine.

He said things to her that he had never before imagined himself saying to a woman.

How foolish he must have sounded when he told her that she was his destiny, and his Waterloo. How she must have laughed once she had left him. What had he done wrong to invite her scorn? He felt used, betrayed and emasculated, and he was deeply ashamed of his failure.

He had allowed himself to believe that Winslow was the key to his future, that he could live with her in Gotham as an ordinary man, a husband and a father.

Except that he was no ordinary man. He was an elite soldier who had defeated Bruce Wayne and was about to destroy Gotham. He belonged with Talia and the League. They, not Winslow, were his true destiny. It was irrational of him to believe that he could be pain-free, when the mask was such an integral part of his identity. It was why he was a feared man. And he must always be feared.

An unsympathetic Barsad stood opposite, leaning against the fireplace with a rifle slung over his left shoulder and hands tucked into the pockets of his ammunition vest.

"I warned you sex was gonna get you into trouble. Now look at you brooding when you should be out in the field dealing with those rebels!"

Bane looked up at Barsad irritably. "I am not brooding, brother. I am merely engaged in reflection."

"Serves you right if your masculinity took a hit," the sniper heckled. "Maybe next time you'll think with your brain instead of your dick!"

"I value your opinion, brother," Bane grunted, "but if you say one word more..."

The door to the suite swung open, and a shrouded woman entered the great room, spotting the mercenary at his fireside seat.

"Bane!" Talia sighed. "I've been so worried. You missed our meeting last night!" Removing the headscarf that disguised her face, she rushed to the fireplace, kneeling before him.

"Something is wrong! I knew something was wrong," she whispered. "My poor protector... tell me what is wrong."

Bane rested his head on the exposed portion of her breasts, the mask wheezing erratically as Talia folded her arms around him.

"Tell mama what's wrong."

"I am afflicted," he rumbled.

"I know..." Talia cooed. "If I could wear the mask for you, I would."

There was silence for a moment until Bane raised his head. "That is not what I meant."

Barsad shook his head at the scene before him, deciding to take control of the conversation.

"Winslow Gordon got to him, ma'am. She went to bed with him, they had great sex, but in the morning she told him she wanted nothing more to do with him. She walked straight out of here, and Bane was so shocked he didn't try to stop her. That was four days ago, and he's still licking his wounds."

Talia gaped at Barsad in disbelief before returning her glance to the burdened mercenary.

"You mean, you let Winslow Gordon go again?" She demanded, her voice hardening.

"She will return to me, my dear, just as she always has," the mercenary insisted.

"Not this time, brother," Barsad replied. "The whole time I was guarding her she was pre-occupied. I'm thinking she planned this all along, and was stealing her courage to sleep with you so she could pull the rug out from under you."

"You say that only because you want the woman for yourself," Bane accused. "Do not deny it, brother, for I have seen the signs."

"Look, I'll admit I was interested in her, but women who play dirty scare me. No thanks."

Bane leaped to his feet, growling in frustration as he plowed his left fist violently into the wall.

Of course. Barsad had called it accurately. It all made sense to him now. He thought that Winslow had merely rejected him, but now he understood the full measure of her deception. He thought that he was in complete control that night. Instead, Winslow orchestrated the entire evening. Her bare feet, her calculated submission, her convincing tenderness. She had deceived him, and he'd been too blinded by his lust to see it.

Talia's eyes narrowed as she too rose to her feet. "It is as I have always feared, brother. You have fallen in love, and now the mission is compromised!"

"Hold on, ma'am," Barsad cautioned. "Nobody said anything about love. Bane's just not used to being rejected."

"I am sleeping on a hard leather bench every night, washing in cold water while he lives the high life here, sleeping with his mistress!"

"She's not his mistress, ma'am," Barsad reminded her. "She's his wife."

"Stay out of this, brother," Talia ordered, again turning to Bane. "Have you eliminated the Pavel children yet? Have you found Gordon? Have you discovered who is killing our men?"

"I have not," Bane said without hesitation.

"Well, why does any of it matter, so long as you have finally seduced the object of your desire!" Talia's sarcasm was unmistakable.

"All will be accomplished today, my dear," Bane assured her as he shook plaster and paint from his scraped knuckles. Talia was right. He had responsibilities to tend to, and it was time to stop dwelling in unhappy thoughts. "You need not worry."

"I understand you more than you think, my protector," she said, her voice softening. "I know what you're feeling. You mourn my absence in your bed. It's the reason for all your tom-catting. You seek to replace me, but you never will. Deliver Gotham to me and I'll take my place in your bed once more. You remember how it was. I told you once before that it could be that way again."

She squeezed his arm affectionately and hurried out of the suite, certain that she had given him enough food for thought.

"Well, that's that," Barsad observed, somewhat shocked and red-faced by Talia's revelation. He had always wondered if the two of them had once been lovers.

"I assume you're back on the horse again because these rebels are getting out of hand. Three more men were killed last night after someone lobbed a couple of grenades at our Midtown Bridge detail."

"I saw the explosions from the window, brother. I am not so out of touch as you think. Of course there are going to be rebels. Gotham will fight back, as it did against Ra's al Ghul."

"We got another problem, too. Keogh was working a shift at Gotham General last night and got a tongue-lashing from an ER doctor. Seems four women have been raped in the last month and the doc is convinced that the rapist is one of our guys."

"How does he know that?" Bane wheezed deeply. "It could be a Blackgate man or one of our local recruits."

"He says that the victims described the assailant as a soldier who came out of nowhere and overwhelmed them in seconds. He spoke with an accent, and two of the women mentioned a red scarf. Keogh is checking the other hospitals for more victims."

Bane turned to look at Barsad, a deep frown forming as ugly memories flashed before his eyes. Talia's mother, gang-raped and murdered by inmates of the Pit. Not to mention his own assault after those same inmates watched him toss the maturing Talia to freedom. He shuddered at the memory, and the feeling of helplessness that it always gave him.

"And even if it's not one of our guys, the Bane I know wouldn't put up with it. I mean, I know you said to enjoy the spoils, but you draw the line at rape."

"Bring Keogh in," Bane grunted. "Between the three of us, we will get to the bottom of the sexual assaults."

"As for the rebels, allow them to believe they are making progress. Do not retaliate until I give the order. Offer safe passage out of Gotham to those who would sell them out, and that includes all those set for judgment in Crane's court."

"I'm on it, brother," Barsad said. "Anything else?"

"Yes, brother. Bring Victoria and the children to me."


	10. Chapter 10

Victoria Morales kept a careful grip on both Pavel children as they left their suite and ventured into the long hall. Bane had summoned them, and with Barsad holding up the rear with his ever-present assault weapon, Victoria felt like they were walking the last mile. She didn't dare pass that fear along to Maksim.

She was charmed when Bane promised Maksim a mercenary uniform, and then had his man deliver one for little Katya as well. But his four-day silence afterward had greatly disturbed her. There was talk amongst his men that he had been crossed by a woman, which might explain everything, but Victoria read his seclusion as a sign that he had finally made a decision about the fate of the children.

She prayed silently as the group approached Bane's door. Her faith told her that she would soon be reunited in heaven with her husband and child. But what about the children? They were Russian-born and had no religion. How could these two innocents be consigned to hell? How could God be so cruel?

"I can finally show Mr. Bane my uniform!" Maksim jumped excitedly, interrupting Victoria's thought process. "Where's he been anyway?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure he is eager to see you in your uniform." Victoria's voice was fraught with tension, and she felt sick to her stomach.

"Bane wants to see you alone first," Barsad warned Victoria. He had no idea what Bane had planned for the trio, and he was feeling very conflicted. "The kids stay in the hall with me until he asks for them."

Hesitating, Victoria asked, "But what do you know about children?"

"Nothing, ma'am, except that they're safe with me."

Before she entered Bane's suite, she took one long look at the children, just in case it was her last. "I'll only be a moment, niños," she promised, her voice trembling. "Be good."

Inside, the widow of Javier Morales found Bane standing near the fireplace, monitoring the activity on the snow-covered streets through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He seemed calm, but she knew from experience that it wasn't always a sign of good humour.

"Victoria," he mused. "Are you very attached to the Pavel children?"

"I am," she replied as she tentatively approached. "In the short time I've cared for them they have filled the chasm left by the death of my husband and child. Thank you, Mr. Bane, for asking me to look after them. I cannot imagine my life without them."

Bane nodded, slightly amused. Unknowingly he had given the grieving woman a reason to live, which had never been his intention.

"If I were to release them, you would continue to look after them?"

The woman's sad demeanor transformed into a cautious smile. "If you would allow me, Mr. Bane, I'd take them to my home in Barcelona. They could have a wonderful life there. It is a beautiful, cultural city where they would be well-educated." Victoria's eyes brimmed with hope.

"Indeed it is a beautiful city," Bane agreed as he called for Barsad to bring the children in.

Maksim Pavel rushed towards the mercenary, eager to show off his uniform. The boy wore a khaki tee shirt, cargo pants, and a red scarf. Dressed identically to Maksim, Katya followed on tentative feet, reaching with outstretched arms to the man who had lifted her so high.

Bane ignored baby Katya's overtures as Maksim approached.

"Look at my uniform, Mr. Bane! I've been wanting to show you forever."

Bane stared down at the boy with Leonid Pavel's black eyes. "Excellent!" He chirped. "You pass inspection, young Maksim, as does your sister." He was uncomfortably aware that Katya wanted him to pick her up, but he had made a decision. He had killed Pavel and now he was determined that the man's son should know.

Settling himself into the mayor's Eames lounge chair, he groaned and beckoned the five-year-old with his forefinger.

Maksim went to him, gripping the armrest of the chair as he weaved restlessly back and forth.

"There is something I must tell you about your father." Bane rumbled.

Appalled, Victoria whispered, "Mr. Bane, I beg you, please don't!"

"Is he coming to take us home?" Maksim's eyes were bright and excited by the prospect of good news.

"I'm afraid not. Your father is dead, my boy."

Maksim blinked, taken aback by Bane's words. "No, Victoria says he's working, but he's thinking of us." He repeated his governess' words haltingly.

Bane shook his head. "Your father is dead, Maksim. I know, because I am the man who killed him. Would you like me to show you how I did it?"

A stunned Victoria turned on Bane, not caring that he might kill her in retaliation.

"How could you, you savage beast? All because the police commissioner's daughter rejected you," she raged. "I've heard your men whispering! The one woman you truly want is indifferent to you, and now your pride is so wounded that you lash out at the nearest target, an innocent child. I've witnessed your cruelty before, but never anything as heinous as this!"

A furious Bane rose to his feet. "Hold your tongue, madame," he threatened darkly.

Victoria's obvious distress triggered panic in Maksim, and he began to sob uncontrollably. The crushed five-year-old suspected he was facing a terrible truth.

"It's not true! It isn't true! You're lying!" His little fists pounded Bane's knee pads. "Poppa! You give me back my Poppa!"

Seeing her brother and governess both overwhelmed by tears, Katya also began to cry. Victoria scooped both children up, holding on to them for dear life.

"I hate you, I hate you," Maksim bawled, tears streaming down his red face.

"Good." Bane nodded his approval as he watched the boy convulse in Victoria's arms. "Hate is a powerful weapon, Maksim. It will make a man of you, and one day you will thank me for it."

It was clear to Barsad that no matter what emotional mayhem he had wrought, Bane was going to release the children. Diplomatically, he broke up the scene.

"If we're done, brother, I'll take over from here."

"We are done," Bane confirmed. "Arrange passage to Barcelona for Mrs. Morales and the children. They are to leave tonight via our usual channels. Have Perez open an account for her with a deposit of $100,000 American dollars now and $200,000 to be paid annually on January 1st."

"Right," Barsad said, mentally adding the task to the list of things that Bane had given him earlier. Though it bothered the sniper to see Maksim so badly hurt, he was glad that Bane had been lenient.

"Alright everybody, let's go!" Barsad called as he herded the sobbing trio into the hall and to freedom. "Dry your eyes. You're going home."

*******

The sewers were all but abandoned now that the mercenaries had completed the preliminary phase of their work. For months they had drilled and laid explosives, their activity virtually undetected thanks to the miles of tunnels beneath Gotham. Although many of the same tunnels were now blocked, Bane's command post was still accessible, and it was there that he summoned Talia for another meeting later that same day.

Miranda Tate's high heels pierced the sound of the waterfall as Talia rounded on Bane's lair and found him seated on the edge of his bunk.

"Do those heels serve you well as you camp in the cold atrium of Wayne Enterprises?" Bane's voice was stern and judgemental.

"Oh, be quiet, Bane. They are the only perk I have in that wretched place. I've thrown my neck out sleeping on that hard bench," she complained, making reference to the office banquette on which she slept most nights. How she missed Miranda Tate's comfortable townhouse.

"I worry about you, my dear. You have lost your taste for suffering."

"I have not," she answered curtly, swiftly changing the subject. "I trust you have better news for me tonight, my friend."

"I do indeed," Bane said, raising himself from the bunk. "I have done your bidding and dispatched the Pavel children."

"The Morales woman too?"

"Drowned. All three of them."

It was a boldfaced lie. Bane knew he was disrespecting Talia, but he no longer cared. More and more he needed to make his own decisions, and not just follow her orders.

"I wish I could have been there when Crane judged them," she grinned. "Especially to hear the cries of that raving Spanish woman. I never understood why you kept her on."

"It was a textbook execution, my dear. No need to obsess any further. We have other priorities."

"Yes. You still have not produced Commissioner Gordon, and you foolishly allowed his daughter to come and go."

"As you know, holding her failed to bring him out of hiding, my dear."

"Well, maybe if you had paraded her on the steps of City Hall with a rifle pointed at her head, that might have swayed him. Instead, you preferred to romance her. She is not likely to return now that she wants nothing more to do with you."

Troubled by her words, Bane frowned as Talia surveyed her surroundings and sniffed distastefully.

"Why are we meeting down here, Bane? It's not very pleasant."

"Because I grow tired of 30th-floor luxury and the executive gymnasium at Wayne Enterprises," Bane replied bluntly. "I am in danger of losing my way, but unlike you I intend to ground myself."

The daughter of Ra's al Ghul focused her eyes on Bane with a look that could only be described as predatory.

"I agree with your self-assessment, my friend, but it is not luxury that leads you astray. You have been spellbound by that Gordon girl, but that's over as of tonight. I will remedy that."

Talia tossed her coat from her shoulders, revealing a stunning blue dress that fully exploited her generous breasts.

"I should have done something about this situation long ago. Prepare yourself, brother. I have the will to act."

"Talia, no. This is not a good idea," Bane protested, only too aware of what she wanted. Winslow had left him feeling battered and vulnerable, and the mask wheezed a frustrated sigh as Talia peeled off her high heels.

"Shhh..." she whispered. "Don't fight it, Bane. It has been so long for us, so long. Allow me to ground you, brother, there on my mother's blanket."

*******

Once Barsad had seen Victoria and the Pavel children safely on their journey, he returned to City Hall, only to find Keogh alone in the suite with his feet up, watching a hockey game on the big screen television as he ate his dinner.

"Where's Bane?"

"Not here. He said you're to report to him in the sewer. Want some pizza?"

Barsad frowned. "No thanks. What's he doing down there?"

"Beats me," Keogh replied, washing his pizza down with beer. "He's in a mood today."

"You can say that again," Barsad complained, annoyed that after such a long day he now had to go into the sewers. "Is he in the usual spot?"

"Yup. Command post."

A half-hour later, Barsad descended a ladder into the sewer and went in search of the miserable mercenary. As he neared the waterfall, he heard angry voices that he recognized as belonging to Bane and Talia.

"I am owed your love, your loyalty and your body! Instead, you insult me. No man has ever refused me before!"

"I regret your upset, my dear, but there is a reason why we ceased our previous relationship. I believe you wish to restart it for the wrong reason. Do not deny that you would use your body to try and control me."

Barsad entered the cold cavern where Bane had spent months planning his siege of Gotham. "Looks like I arrived at a bad time," he said sheepishly.

"I am leaving," Talia sneered as she stepped into her discarded shoes. "You are off the Gordon detail, Bane. I'll bring him in myself. While you sulk and pine for your pretty little police officer, armed gangs have been killing our men. Is it too much to ask that you pull yourself up by your bootstraps and put a stop to them?"

Barsad peered sympathetically at Bane as the sound of Miranda Tate's high heels receded into the distance.

The mercenary sat bent over on his bunk, looking very world-weary. "Did you see the children off at the Heliport, brother?"

"Yea, yea. Victoria said to thank you for the generous financing, although she still doesn't like what you did."

Bane nodded. "And the boy?"

"Last time I saw him he was strapped into his seat, staring into space. Katya was screaming her head off. I felt sorry for the helicopter pilot. Am I glad to see the back of them!"

"Indeed," Bane replied, rubbing his hands together. "They are a handful."

"Hey, why are we down here when there's dinner and warm beds back at City Hall?"

"I needed to reconnect with myself," Bane sighed. "I have learned that I do not function well in opulent surroundings. There is margin for error."

"You mean like telling Maksim the truth about his old man, and pursuing the daughter of the man you're supposed to hang from the bridge?"

"Your candor is not appreciated," Bane frowned. "I have endured enough this evening."

"Speaking of which, boss, what was Talia so mad about?"

"As you no doubt suspected by her words, she attempted to engage me in amorous activities, but I refused her."

"Well thank the lord for good judgement, brother," Barsad smirked. "Otherwise I would have walked in on the both of you, and that's a sight I'd rather not see."

*******

Winslow stared wistfully out the kitchen window of Abby Murtaugh's house as her mind drifted to Bane, and her own disappointment.

It was bad enough that as a police officer she had fantasized, and lusted after him. It was far worse that she slept with him and thoroughly enjoyed it.

What kind of police officer would have sex with the warlord who was holding her city hostage? Only a corrupt cop could be capable of such behaviour.

Again and again, she relived Bane's words to her on the morning she left him, when he had said that she was his Waterloo and that it was his destiny to be tamed by her.

In the days since, she had come to believe it was only sweet-talk, his mode d'emploi with every woman. It was likely that he had shrugged off the cold shoulder she had given him. After all, he hadn't tried to stop her from leaving. Maybe he hadn't been impacted by her rejection, as she originally thought.

She genuinely believed that somehow Gotham would be victorious, and when the dust settled she would have to think seriously about her future. It wasn't going to be easy for her to continue as a police officer, with her colleagues and the entire city knowing that she had been held by Bane, and that he had forced her into a sham marriage. There would always be gossip about possible disloyalty and hanky panky, and of course they'd be correct in their suspicions.

Sudden movement outside distracted her from her thoughts. From her spot at the window, she focussed on the detached garage at the back of the house. It looked as though someone was sitting on the ground, resting against the far garage wall, where a pair of boots extended into the snow.

Winslow grabbed her jacket, slipped out the front door and made her way around to the garage. The snow allowed her to move silently, and she slipped into place on the opposite side of the garage.

"Come out from there, whoever you are. I've got a gun," she shouted.

There was a very long pause and more movement, until a defiant-looking teenager revealed herself. She held a grenade in her hand, and she was poised to throw it at Winslow. The girl was short, shorn-headed, with large, haunted eyes. Because she wore combat fatigues, Winslow assumed she was one of Bane's people.

"You've got a gun, but I've got a grenade," the girl replied. "If you don't put that thing down, I'll pull this pin and we'll both die. I'm not afraid of death, because I got nothing left to lose. What about you?"

"You don't want to do that! I'm police. Officer Winslow Gordon."

"All the cops are underground! Show me your badge," the girl demanded.

"I'm not carrying it. I can't risk being discovered if I'm stopped and searched."

"I don't believe you!"

"You have no other choice. Now, just how old are you, anyway?"

"The girl swallowed hard. "Seventeen."

A previous conversation with Barsad tripped Winslow's memory. "You're the girl who's leading the civilian uprising."

"There are three groups," she nodded. "Bane's sniper killed the other two leaders. I figure he's after me next, so I've gone nomad. He's not gonna get me before I get Bane."

"What are you doing in this backyard?"

"Resting. I couldn't get inside the garage, so I had a little snooze against the wall.

"Where are your parents?"

The girl's lip trembled ever so slightly. "Gone. Scarecrow sentenced them."

Winslow's brow furrowed and she lowered her gun in a sign of trust. "You need to be with people you love right now. You're going to get killed if you keep on doing what you're doing."

"Uh-uh. Like I said, I'm not afraid of dying, and I don't have any love left in me. Only hate. And I'm gonna waste Bane with it!"

As the girl spoke, Winslow spotted Gordon and Blake in the distance behind her, silently easing around the side of the house with their weapons ready.

But the girl's hearing was sharp. "Whoever is behind me, show yourselves or I swear to God I'll pull this pin!"

"It's Commissioner Gordon and Detective Blake," Gordon replied readily. "What's your name, honey?"

"Come around and stand next to her, and drop your guns."

After Blake and Gordon silently took their places next to Winslow, they dropped their guns. All three police officers sensed that she wasn't really a threat to them.

Satisfied, the girl nodded. "My street name is Jade, that's all I'll say."

"Well, Jade, where are you getting those hand grenades?" Blake asked.

"I'm not going to answer that question."

"You know you've killed people." Winslow reminded her. "Your parents died, but two wrongs don't make a right."

"Don't give me that turn-the-other-cheek Sunday school crap! I'm not a kid anymore. You grow up real fast when you watch your parents die."

"At least come inside," James Gordon reasoned in a fatherly way. "You're shivering, and I'll bet you're hungry."

"You know what I used to be, Commissioner Gordon? Before Bane, I was a pitcher on my high school baseball team. I was really good at throwing players out. So you know I can throw one of these babies," she said, indicating the grenade.

"Jade, put that thing down and come inside," Winslow said. "There's food and a place to sleep."

Jade looked tempted for a moment but stood her ground. "No, I gotta go. I'm gonna throw Bane out at home plate, and if any of you tries to follow me I'll pull the pin."

The three police officers looked at one another, and James Gordon nodded at Winslow.

"Alright," Winslow said. "Have it your way. But if you need a place to crash, you know where to find us."

Jade's lip trembled again. "Thank you, all of you," she muttered. Her enormous eyes took in each one of the police officers, and then she was gone.

*******


End file.
